Welcome to the Jungle
by Etoile87
Summary: Rachel and Jesse. San Diego. Vocal Adrenaline. No good can possibly come of this, right?
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** So I've had this idea stuck in my head for ... awhile and finally decided I had to get it out of my system. And I'm not sure how well this is going to come off, because it's my first multi-chapter story, and it's also probably thoroughly implausible. But hey, let's just go with it, maybe it'll be fun!

One quick bit of dramatic license: I decided what they referred to as "spring break" in 'Laringytis' was probably more like the February break most high schools have - since Regionals seems to fall somewhere in March.

**Timeframe:** Begins a few days post 1x17, 'Bad Reputation.'

**Rating:** Is for language, teen partying, maybe some suggestive stuff in later chapters (rating is probably higher than it has to be, but I guess is cracking down and I'd rather err on the side of too high than too low).

**Disclaimer:** None of 'em are mine. Sadly.

* * *

**Welcome to the Jungle**

"Are you okay?"

She's been wrapped up in her own thoughts, so the voice behind her makes her jump - and she chastises herself, because being so distracted is just asking for a slushy facial. She looks over her shoulder, and thankfully, it's Kurt, which is - surprising.

Sure, they've forged a tentative truce in recent weeks. She has a healthy respect for Kurt's talent - and she's learned that they share a great many dreams. She's also learned that sometimes, when you're so like someone and you share such a small town, it's hard to look past being rivals to be true friends.

So the concern and sympathy on Kurt's face is genuinely surprising.

"Fine." She gives him a bright smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you and Jesse barely said two words to each other in rehearsal today, and you didn't even have the energy to muster more than a glare when Puck asked who Stephen Schwartz was."

"I'm fine," she protests wanly, her mind half on Kurt and half on the missing textbook she must have left in the choir room, wondering if she has time to go back and get it and still make the afternoon bus. It's obvious Jesse will not be driving her home today.

"Rachel, it's glaringly obvious. Ever since 'Run Joey Run' - hideous song, by the way - Jesse sits there looking like he wants to strangle someone, and you just look miserable."

"Yeah, what do you care?" She knows she's being petulant and really can't afford to lose friends - especially now - but she doesn't particularly feel like being cross examined today. "I thought you hated him anyway."

"Look, I know I wasn't happy when you started dating him - quite frankly, I wouldn't be happy about anyone from New Directions dating someone from another choir. We're enough of a cesspool of drama as it is. But you two are kind of sickeningly perfect together. You're even more obnoxious together than apart."

She half smiles. "Was there a compliment in there somewhere, Kurt?"

Kurt shrugs, leaning over to check his hair in her locker mirror. "Quite frankly, I'm a little jealous."

He makes the comment airily enough, but there's a certain weight to the words she can't just let slide. "Kurt." They're not friendly enough to hug, but she puts a hand on his arm, squeezes. "You just haven't met someone as brave as you yet."

They're quiet for a second, and then she sighs.

"I really messed up, didn't I?"

"He seems pretty angry." Kurt shrugs. "I can't say I blame him. He basically turned his entire life upside down for you, and you pulled that. The guy has such a big ego, I can't imagine it felt good."

That Jesse turned his entire life upside down might be an understatement, she thinks. She doesn't know much about Carmel - but knows it can't have been anything like McKinley. It seems that Vocal Adrenaline is more like the Cheerios - not at the bottom of the social heap. It certainly couldn't have been like Jesse's third day at McKinley, when he'd taken a slushy to the face. In hindsight, that incident may be why Kurt has softened on him - after seeing Jesse's horrified reaction, the two had bonded over hair care products.

There's so much she doesn't know about his life, she realizes. The week they started dating, he was submitted to a _truly_ awkward interrogation at the hands of not one, but two fathers - but she doesn't know anything about his parents, beyond a few flippant remarks he's made. He's here, at her school, with her friends - but she doesn't know anyone about the people he spent three years building a team with. She could name his dream roles, but couldn't tell you his favorite color.

And now he thinks she doesn't even care. If anything, though, it's exactly the opposite. Her music video, which she had gone into thinking it was just acting, had only served to highlight - blantantly - the differences between the three boys. Finn had looked completely lost, had needed the most serious coaching, had gotten creeped out by Dr. Ryerson, and had gotten on her nerves more than once by reminding her what a favor he was doing her. Noah lacked the knowledge and background to have a single serious discussion about what they were doing, and was concerned about a 'chick flick' music video harming his own bad reputation - but mostly just looked vaguely amused, before attempting again to make out with her. Jesse, though - while he'd been agreeable about participating in her project to support her, he'd been more than willing to say it to her face when he disagreed with her artistic decisions, and it had resulted in more than one spirited debate. But she's never met someone else who is so invested in what he's doing. While it was work getting the other two boys to participate, with Jesse, it had been an enjoyable undertaking. _Thoroughly_ enjoyable. She still feels short of breath when she remembers the way he kissed her goodnight.

It's laughable that her one stupid action - an action she thought nothing of until she saw the hurt on Jesse's face that even he couldn't hide - taught her so much. And yet it might be the action that costs her everything.

The inconvertible truth is this - whatever she does or does not know about him, however she's hurt him or he might hurt her, he's become a part of her life. She has to find a way to fix things with him. She has to.

"Come on," Kurt says, snapping her out of her reverie. He links his arm with hers. "I'll give you a ride."

* * *

"Look, I'm coming back. It's what you wanted." He's pacing furiously around the small living room of his bachelor uncle's apartment, grateful that he's working late again. "I don't see what the big deal is."

"The big deal is that you're not finished with what I asked you to do yet." His former coach sounds vaguely impatient and accusatory, and only years of training - her word is law - keep him from barking down the line that he's 18 and she's turned his fucking life upside down.

"Look, it's not going to happen. She's not going to come looking for you - not without me being really, really obvious about it. They'll figure out that you're trying to breach the contract, and I don't want to get dragged into that kind of legal trouble."

"Look, Jesse, just give it another week or two. Get her to open up to you."

"I just ... can't stay at McKinley another week." He refuses to tell her that it's because his stomach is in knots every time he thinks of Rachel - her daughter. "They're ... they're insipid."

"Jesse, I know this is like asking a fish not to swim, but could you try not being overdramatic for five minutes and telling me what actually happened?"

Now, instead of sounding impatient, she sounds concerned. It's the one thing he can't handle right now.

"You don't get it," he says helplessly.

"Jesse - "

"My uncle's unlocking the door. I have to go." He hangs up even though it's obviously a blatant lie, tossing the phone against the couch cushions.

Unable to stand still, he turns and stalks back across the room. He knows he's being overdramatic, even though he's home alone and has no audience, and he can't quite seem to help himself.

'Run Joey Run' had been all well and good when they were rehearsing alone. They'd done some of the storyboarding together, and it had turned into a long-winded artistic debate. The whole storyline of the song is ridiculous, but her acting his so wholehearted - from her wild-eyed "Watch out!" to the way she swoons in his arms - that it's a whole different kind of turn on. And when they'd been practicing at night and she'd started shivering in her driveway, he'd shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders without thinking about it. The look she'd turned on him, her eyes soft, had stirred something funny inside of him.

But now, the image of her doing the same with Puckerman, and worse, Hudson is branded over the memory, and he feels sick, his hands clenching into fists.

When did she become the sort of person he had these feelings about?

Almost immediately, his phone rings again. He assumes it's Shelby calling back. He picks up without glancing at it. "What?" he snaps. not really caring at the moment that she'll definitely school him over the attitude when he goes back to Carmel.

"Is that any way to greet a lady?"

This may or may not be preferable to talking to Shelby. "I don't see a lady, Giselle."

"How's slumming it going? You know, when you go on a recon mission, you're supposed to actually report back to your team."

"Just ... busy." He sounds lame even to his own ears. The official story he and Shelby had agreed upon was a recon mission - since New Directions is such a new group and no one really knows what to expect from them at regionals.

"Boy, that chick did a number on you, huh?"

"Who says there's a girl?"

"Please, Jesse, it all adds up." She pauses. "It's the little soloist from Sectionals, isn't it? The Streisand wannabe. We all saw how you were looking at her."

"Just passing time," he lies. "She's the only one on the team who's remotely talented."

"Come on, St. James. I've never seen a girl get to you this way." He thinks she sounds a little jealous. She pauses again. "You know, there are ways you could forget her, if she's messing with your head."

"Sorry, Gis. Sloppy seconds aren't my style."

"Just tell me you're almost done with this and you're coming back," she whines. "Things are _insufferable_ here. It's just Chris and Ben jockeying for all your solos and neither one of them can pull off the lifts. I need a decent male lead, Jesse."

Despite himself, he laughs. It's nice to know how things fall apart in your absence. "I'll come back whenever Coach Corcoran tells me to."

"Look, at least tell me you're still coming on break with us." When he hesitates, she latches on to it. "Please? It's bad enough Liz has a college visit and isn't going. It's senior year. Our victory lap. Get away from the wannabes at McKinley for a week and spend it with the people you belong with."

He only has to think for a second. The ticket is already purchased - courtesy of Carmel's boosters. It will take him next to no time to pack. McKinley's winter break doesn't line up with Carmel's, but his grades are impeccable - he can afford to miss a few classes.

And maybe a week away will be just what he needs to clear his head and decipher this hold Rachel Berry has on him.

"Okay. I'm in."

* * *

"Rachel Berry, right?"

She looks up from the stack of music she's looking at (there has to be an apology song in here somewhere) and, not for the first time, she wonders if every show kid in Ohio frequents this store.

"Andrea Cohen?" She remembers the day they snuck into Vocal Adrenaline's rehearsal in their ill-fated attempt to recrupt Dakota Stanley and she'd been a little star struck by this girl. And now - "You know my name," she says. Completely lamely.

"Please. Your Sectionals performance was extraordinary. You could stand some minor improvements to your diction - but still extraordinary."

"Thank you." She has to stop herself from asking Andrea for more details on her performance. She's amazed that anyone she's met from Carmel so far - although it's just Jesse, and now Andrea - thinks she's genuinely talented, but still knows how to help her improve. She's far and away the best New Directions has to offer. Mr. Schue typically gives her a "Very good, Rachel," and that's that. No notes - nothing to improve. Not for the first time, she wonders if she's really learning enough.

"Anyway, I'd know you anywhere," Andrea continues. "You're Jesse's girl, right? The one he ditched us for."

_I think I am. I was. I hope I still am._ "He's a great guy," is what she says instead.

"Yeah. We miss him. We're so glad he's coming with us on break."

Rachel knows it's suicide to let Andrea see she feels like she's just been punched in the stomach. Jesse had offhandedly mentioned several weeks ago that some other members of Vocal Adrenaline would be going to San Diego for the upcoming winter break, something the upperclassmen did every year, apparently. But she hadn't known he planned on going.

And she certainly hadn't thought he'd leave town without telling her.

Andrea snaps her fingers. "Hey, a funny thing happened. You know Liz Perle?"

"The soprano soloist?"

"She's the one. You don't miss a trick, Berry." Andrea takes another sip out of the travel mug in her hand, then grabs Rachel by the arm. Still a little numb, she agreeably lets herself be guided toward a windowseat where they can sit and talk. "She's visiting this conservatory next week and can't go with us this year, see."

* * *

"You did _WHAT_?" Giselle shouts into the phone that evening.

"Please, ask louder, Gis. I don't think my neighbors heard you," Andrea says mildly.

"We can't spend a whole _week_ with her!" Giselle hisses.

"Look, who cares if she uses the ticket? Liz isn't going anyway. There's something up between her and Jesse, and I want to know what it is."

"Tell me about it. You should have heard him earlier."

"She's a pretty good actress, but she still couldn't hide it - you should have seen how shifty she was about it. She had no clue he was coming with us."

"He wasn't planning to tell her, either, from what I picked up. Things are seriously fixing to blow up between them."

"Exactly. Look, whatever recon Coach sent him on, it's not working. So let's help him out a little. She's talented, but trust me, she's green as hell. A few days on the beach, and she'll be telling us everything."

Giselle smirks into the phone - admiring and a little jealous she didn't think of it first. She and Andrea have a weird, almost antagonistic friendship. They're each other's stiffest competition for the female lead. But they've also been friends since grammar school. Maybe it's because you really should keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Or maybe it's because no one else would stoop to these levels.

Just doing what needs to be done, they'd both say.

"Brilliant. Andi. But let me do you one better."

"Oh?"

"We're going to kick the shit out of McKinley at Regionals. But first, let's psych Barbra out good."


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Thanks so much to everyone for such a great response to the first chapter! And with that, we're off ..._

* * *

"Hey, St. James! We've got a surprise for you."

Smirk firmly in place, he turns around. He's well-versed in these winter break antics. He fully expects to see Jake with a bottle of vodka hidden in the back of his SUV, or Katy modeling her bathing suit in the parking lot despite the 20-degree temperature on a dare from the other girls, Ohio weather be damned. He's prepared to react with bemusement but not surprise.

What he doesn't expect to see is the little brunette slip of a girl in a kitten sweater, nervously standing next to Andrea holding her pink suitcase in both hands.

At first he thinks he's got to be imagining it - this week is supposed to be about _not_ thinking about her, so his mind must be rebelling and manifesting her there. He hasn't actually seen her since he stalked out of the ballet studio a few days ago. His attempts to avoid her entirely had been ruined when, of course, the instructor had paired the two of them to demonstrate those particular lifts - they're far and away the best students in the class. Her music video stunt had woken him up - reminded him that he's getting far too Method about this whole thing and she's not supposed to mean this much. But it's hard to pretend she doesn't matter when dancing with her is like breathing - barely think the next step and she's there. It's dangerous territory, his mind so full of her he can't think clearly.

And now - when he's supposed to be spending this week clearing his head and figuring out his exit strategy - there she is, standing next to Andrea with that nervous little smile on her face. The boys are introducing themselves with macho nods, a few appraising glances paired with side-eye over at Jesse, afraid of being too friendly. Well, some things never change.

The girls, however, are swarming around, wearing bright showface smiles. Too bright. He's instantly on alert - particularly when Andrea slants a wink over at him and he knows exactly what all this is about.

"Rachel - " He wades into the fray to take her by the hand, dragging her around and between the rows of parked cars where they'll have a little privacy. "What are you doing here?"

She smiles at him, damn it. "Hi, Jesse."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hisses, keeping his voice down. It's Friday and classes were let out an hour ago, so the lot is nearly empty, students not keen to hang around on the last day before winter break. That means the group of them, meeting here to head out to the airport, are pretty much the only ones around. There's still chatter from the other row, but he knows they're all straining to hear every word.

"I met Andrea yesterday. She invited me," Rachel says matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I can see that. What on earth posessed you to think this is a good idea?" That's the first on the list of questions running through his head, right along with how she met Andrea, how her dads are okay with this, and how he is going to get out of this week without this secret blowing up in his face.

"Look, Jesse, you turned your back on people you spend years working with. And then I did something really stupid, and made you feel like I didn't appreciate you enough. But ... I want to show you that I do. I want to meet your friends and know what your life is like. Even if it's only for a week, I want to show you that I felt the same way about you and would do the same thing. Even if it means crossing enemy lines," she says, in typically dramatic fashion.

"This is not a good idea," he tells her in a low voice.

"Jesse, I'm sorry. Just ... let me show you?"

This is a bad idea. A horrible idea. Andrea and Giselle are already circling her like vultures. Put them all in a room together and his secret will be thisclose to coming out.

He briefly considers calling Shelby, getting her to call the whole thing off under the guise of not having a student from another school on the trip. But that would royally blow their cover. Why would Shelby care about this girl, they'll ask, when she never has in the past? If there's an open seat on the trip - which there often has been, because of college visits or family obligations - they find someone to take it. Last year, Shoshandra brought her boyfriend-of-the-month from another district and they barely saw the two of them for the week. As long as no one's been arrested and they come back with their noses clean, ready to perform, no one particularly cares. Him alerting Shelby THIS time will raise more questions than it's worth.

But there is no possible way anything good can come of this - not when Rachel is standing there with hopeful eyes and that nervous little smile, wanting him to be her perfect boyfriend again, and his team expects him to be Jesse St. James, leader of Vocal Adrenaline, and he himself isn't quite sure which role he ought to play.

"Are we catching a plane or what?"

Chris's shout breaks the spell. Rachel tosses her hair and gives him a bright smile. He knows he's not talking her out of this - not without spilling his whole story right here in the parking lot, which he's not prepared to do. There must still be a way out of this.

She wants to do this? Fine.

* * *

There's a mad scramble in the parking lot as people claim seats in cars, trying to get a dozen people, plus luggage, sorted out and ready to go. Rachel's heart sinks when she notices there are already three boys in Jesse's Range Rover - and Giselle is loudly claiming the last available seat.

"Come on," Andrea says, grabbing her by the hand. "You can ride out with me."

Well. if she's going to get to know these people, she needs to stand on her own two feet at some point.

She still cringes when she opens the back door of Andrea's car and catches a flash of blonde hair and long legs as the girl scoots over. Visions of Quinn Fabray's sachharine smile and short skirt flash through her head.

But the smile this girl offers her has real warmth to it. "Hey. Claire Longden."

"Rachel Berry."

"Yeah, the famous Rachel Berry," the girl says, a teasing lilt to her voice. "The one who tamed Jesse St. James."

"Please," Andrea half-sneers, casting a bemused grin into the backseat as she puts the car into reverse. "Like Jesse can ever be tamed." Claire looks at Rachel and rolls her eyes and Rachel hesitantly smiles back, not wanting to offend Andrea.

The other girl in the front seat, with masses of wavy red hair, snickers a little. "Lay off, Andrea. I think it's ... sweet." But there's something about the way she draws out the last word.

Andrea raises one shoulder delicately. "You'll have to forgive us, Rachel. Jesse's earned a reputation."

"We always thought that if anyone managed to domesticate him, it'd be Giselle," the redhead puts in.

Oh. Well, then.

She's suddenly _extremely_ curious about what is going on in the other car. She knows Jesse has a past. She just didn't expect to be confronted by it before even getting to the airport.

"Please," Claire comes to her rescue. "Giselle's been one of the soloists for three years. There's history but that's all."

"Oh, there's history all right." Rachel knows the redhead is trying to catch her eye in the rearview mirror. She steadfastedly pretends to be fascinated by the Akron highway.

* * *

In the car up ahead, the conversation is not quite as subtle.

"What the FUCK, Giselle."

"We just thought we'd invite your girlfriend along. Didn't want her to get lonely without you." From the backseat, she smirks, a couple of the boys in the car hooting with laughter.

"Yeah, and she'll be so grateful for the invite, I'm sure she'll be willing to discuss a few select details about New Directions with her new best friends," Ryan chimes in.

"I was already working on that," Jesse protests lamely. "She's not _stupid_, Giselle. You don't think she'll have her guard up in a houseful of you for the week?"

"You've been doing this job a fucking month," Giselle snaps. "We're just helping you along."

"Coach Corcoran - "

"Coach Corcoran doesn't know that you've gotten in _this_ deep with her. That you two are in some kind of lovers' quarrel that you're in such a funk over, you were going to leave town without telling her. That you've been ignoring us for weeks."

Giselle leans into the front seat to grab his arm, almost painfully. He swears and shakes her off, managing not to swerve on the road. Undaunted, she leans in to speak directly in his ear.

"You might have forgotten why Coach Corcoran sent you to McKinley, but we didn't. Now are you with us, or not?"

* * *

The good news is that she's sitting next to Jesse on the plane. The bad news is that Giselle is on his other side, shooting her coy little glances. This is going to be a long flight.

Particularly long, because Jesse is clearly not in a good mood. He snaps at Giselle when she tries to engage him in conversation, refusing to meet her eyes, then mutters something harsh at the blonde boy - Josh? Jake? - who is sitting in the row behind them, buzzing with energy.

She regards him curiously. He's pale - it's not just the harsh airplane lighting - and the lines on his forehead are set in grim concentration. His normally meticulous hair is unruly - more so when it was when they arrived at the airport, so it's clearly not due to wind. She notes why when he runs his hand through his hair again as the plane pulls back to taxi. It's reflexive, almost like a nervous habit -

_Holy hell,_ Jesse St. James is afraid of flying.

It hits her so obviously, in a rush of surprise and sympathy. She chances a curious glance around at his former teammates, wondering if anyone else has noticed and if anyone else knows this about him. Nobody's reacting, and well, that makes sense. His tension is so subtle - he's not the sort of person who wants to make his weaknesses known.

She can't let it slide, though. She doesn't want to hold his hand like he's six, or make some other gesture that's going to embarass him or out his weakness. She's quickly learning how this group of people operates. So she settles for inching her foot over to hook her ankle around his, where no one else can see. His eyes snap over to her, surprised, curious - then soften with something like gratitude when she smiles reassuringly. He's still white-knuckling the armrest, though.

"Jesse, since our conversation last week, I've been considering the works of Andrew Lloyd Weber, and I've determined that _Love Never Dies_ is not quite as bad as you think it is."

"What?" he demands.

She smiles when he lets go of the armrest to talk with his hands as he launches into the argument, not even blinking when the pilot announces they're next in line for takeoff.

* * *

Rachel's eyes go a little wide when she sees the beach house on the private strip of shore. Jesse considers, then decides he'd probably have the same reaction if he'd grown up differently. Rachel's dads are modestly well-off, and most of the other families of McKinley students are working-class.

Ben's parents are more loaded than Jesse's. And similarly distant. There won't be any calls to check up on the unsupervised teenagers this week. No one will be making sure the fridge is stocked properly (with something besides vodka and Red Bull), no one making sure curfew is enforced (usually, no one's in bed - and if they are in bed, sleep isn't happening anyway).

Rachel had called her dads from the airport to check in. Jesse, who genuinely likes the two men, tried to ignore the way Giselle was rolling her eyes.

For his part, he's happy just to have both feet on the ground again. He hates flying. Always has. Something about the loss of control completely unnerves him. His hands always itch for something solid to grab on to, to make him feel like this thing won't just free fall out of the sky at any moment (When he was in fourth grade, he'd grabbed his mother's hand on a family trip. He'd gotten a lecture from his father during their layover about acting like a man).

He finds it a little unsettling that Rachel can read him so well but it's also ... surprisingly comforting that she knew what to do. He wouldn't go so far as to say he didn't even notice the plane taking off, but they were so engrossed in debating Weber and then Sondheim, the flight had gone surprisingly quickly.

By the time they've landed, collected their luggage, called cabs, and arrived at the house, it's after dark and too late for much to go on that night. They'd taken the last flight out of Akron after Friday classes, and, even with the time difference, it's already dark by the time they've dragged everything into the house. A few of the guys are cracking open beers on the deck (Ben paid his cousin, who is the vice president of his frat, to come by earlier this week and stock the place), but mostly, everyone is tired - partly due to jetlag and partly due to the 5 a.m. rehearsal he knows they fit in this morning prior to the break. Ben leaves everyone to sort out sleeping arrangements on their own. Rachel's standing there looking a little lost as people ebb and flow around her.

He sees Andrea and Giselle eyeing her from across the room, and warning bells go off in his head. He might have left her to fend for herself on a 30-minute car ride to the airport, but there is absolutely no way he's going to let Giselle antagonize her behind closed doors for the entire week.

He crosses the room to grab her by the wrist and tugs her along in the direction of the stairs. "Come on."

"Man, this place is cramped. Can I share with you?" The wink Ryan gives him as they squeeze by in the upstairs hallway makes it very clear that he wasn't just talking about the room, and Rachel squeezes his hand a little bit tighter.

"Fuck off," Jesse snarls, opening the door at the end of the hall and letting Rachel inside first as he feels along the wall for the light switch. He's been here often enough to know that this particular room, although miniscule, has its own bathroom and some degree of privacy.

"Thanks," Rachel says quietly.

"I'm sorry. Ryan is - "

"Not just for that," she interrupts. "I wasn't sure where I was spending the night. Andrea was very kind to invite me, but - "

"It's not like she's your best friend. I get it," he says, wondering why she still hasn't met his eyes. He crosses the room to open the window - it's a little stuffy in here, as they definitely left the cold weather behind in Ohio. He maneuvers around the bed to reach the lock on the window and - Oh. Right. _The_ bed. As in, the only one in the room. He turns around, not at all surprised to find Rachel glancing back and forth between the bed and him, her cheeks pink.

"You can take the bed," he offers. "I'll take the floor."

"Jesse - "

"Rachel, the way the rest of this group operates may have given you the wrong idea, but I didn't offer to share a room with you because of that. We're not going to do anything you're uncomfortable with."

He still can't _quite_ believe she's actually here. She looks beautiful, standing in the dimly-lit room - but doing _that_ isn't even a thought when she's so obviously nervous - about that, about their relationship, about being here, about everything.

"I trust you," she says finally.

And that kills the moment, because, well, she _shouldn't_.

He lets her have the bathroom first, while he finds the extra blankets that he knows are in the closet and sets about making a bed on the floor. He's left waiting another 20 minutes while she completes what appears to be an extremely elaborate bedtime routine. He's not surprised in the slightest, idly scrolling through the music on his iPod while he waits. She does nothing by degrees.

He's also not surprised when he spots her toothbrush on the edge of the sink and notes that there's a gold star sticker on the handle.

When he comes back from his turn in the bathroom, she's sitting up in the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest and blinking sleepily. "Tired?" he asks.

She nods. "I just didn't want to turn the light off til you got back."

And just like that, he's faced with another quandary. Because they've never spent the night in the same room. He can't end the night with nothing, no matter how stilted things are between them. But kissing her goodnight is ... something. It's the first time he's kissed her since 'Run Joey Run.' It can't be heated, not after the conversation they just had. But a kiss on the cheek seems wrong.

Isn't he supposed to be the smooth one? Why is he overanalyzing this?

He settles for touching her hair and kissing her softly on the mouth. And damn it, he can't help lingering for a minute, because her hair smells like strawberries from the shower she just took.

When he pulls back, he flips the light off, and they both get settled.

"Jesse?" Her quiet little voice comes through the dark a moment after he hears her stop moving.

"What?" he whispers back from his place on the floor.

"Are we going to talk about it?"

He stares up at the ceiling he can't see. "We ... have to at some point, right?"

"Just ... before we do anything else. I want you to know that I'm sorry."

"I know you are," he sighs. "We'll ... talk tomorrow, okay? For now, get some rest."

"Tomorrow," she repeats quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

_**PSA:** Ryan Murphy has begun posting deleted scenes from Glee on YouTube, and last night he posted St. Berry's 'Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen' duet that was cut from S1. If you have not seen it yet, do not walk, RUN, to YouTube and check it out. Ryan Murphy's username is MrRPMurphyExclusive. I have two words for you: Hairbrush duet. It's amazingly perfect. There are also deleted scenes with Klaine, Quinn telling Rachel off, and a Warblers number. In short, it's better than most of what actually aired._

_Without further ado..._

* * *

He wakes up momentarily confused - wondering where he is, why he is on the floor, and what the soft little noise in the room is.

Then he remembers that he's on winter break, he's on the floor because Rachel Berry is in the bed, and the soft little noise he hears is her snoring softly.

He lies there for a second trying to blink himself awake and wondering what the funny, warm feeling in his chest is. The little buzzing noise is ... unexpected, but surprisingly soothing.

Rolling over, he finds his phone where he left it on the floor next to the pile of blankets and groans internally when he notes it's just after 8 a.m. He considers dragging the pillow over his head and trying to fall back asleep, but his mind is definitely awake.

Despite having the whole bed to herself, Rachel is curled into a little ball. Her hair is half-covering her face, and she mumbles something unintelligible when his feet squeak on the floor. He can't stand to wake her up. Without thinking too much about why, he drags a t-shirt on over his boxers and creeps into the bathroom to brush his teeth before heading downstairs.

He's not entirely surprised to find Jake and Ben already sitting on the kitchen island – not at, on - and the smell of bacon in the air. Apparently, none of them are programmed to sleep in, even on a Saturday on vacation.

"St. James," Ben drawls. "We have caffeine."

"You're not looking particularly well-rested," Jake chimes in.

He just smirks and doesn't say anything. He's not about to go into details about what's going on between he and Rachel - this odd in-between place they're in. He's never been one to kiss and tell, so his silence is nothing out of place.

"Details," Jake demands though. "Was my cousin at McKinley right about the animal sweaters? Sneaky hot under them?"

He hesitates a second, and that's all it takes for Ben - _fucking AP Psych student_ - to sit bolt upright, gaping at him.

"He has no clue. You haven't banged her yet. Oh my God, this is serious with this girl."

Just as he's opening his mouth to formulate a response, Shoshandra and Giselle slink into the room, wearing bikini tops with their pajama bottoms. Shoshandra immediately perches on the counter next to Ben - so that's how it is this month. He hears the stairs squeak and expects to see Andrea behind the other girls, much less put-together.

Instead, Rachel's hesitantly hovering in the door, still in these ridiculous little penguin pajamas. The other girls - who are far less amply clad - look her up and down, and he suddenly feels protective. He crosses to her and, trying to keep it casual, slides an arm around her shoulders and kisses her cheek.

"Hey. Sleep good?"

She peeks shyly up at him. "Well. Thanks."

"Jesse, your new squeeze is the grammar police? Think she can do my English homework for me?" Ben laughs. It's not quite clear if his tease is friendly or not.

Andrea, never a morning person, stalks into the room, eyes Rachel's pajamas with open distaste, then growls at Jake, who quickly scoots out of the way as she yanks open the fridge and comes up with the Red Bull.

"Are we hitting the beach, or what?"

* * *

"Jesse says you're a big Streisand fan."

"Hm?"

Claire lowers her sunglasses and grins as she flops down on the edge of the beach towel Rachel has been sitting cross-legged on for the better part of the last hour, thinking over everything.

That morning, Jesse had linked his arm with hers, and - with a note of pride in his voice that certainly couldn't have all been for show, right? - had properly introduced her to everyone who was too hurried and half-asleep to process the night before. Even though they haven't talked out everything between them, he still introduces her as his girlfriend, so that's a positive sign, right?

Right now, he is off talking to a few of the other boys. She's not avoiding him and he is not avoiding her, per se, but she is tired of keeping her showface on in front of all these people and pretending there's nothing amiss, knowing the rest of them will latch on to it. She needs time to figure out what to say to him, anyway. She'd been tempted to just stick with Andrea all day in the meantime, as the older girl had invited her, but she would really, really rather not deal with Giselle. So she's lying here alone - unless you count Shoshandra with her earbuds in ten feet away - watching the waves.

"I would have thought your director would have picked your sectionals solo," Claire says. "But Jesse said you did. Barbra's your thing."

"Yeah, I picked it," Rachel says. She bites her lip as she refrains from telling Claire how Mr. Schue hadn't picked any of the competition songs and in fact hadn't even attended due to the brief revocation of his amateur status. Claire is awfully friendly - and this week is about fitting in with these people - but they're still the competition. Even if it doesn't feel that way at the moment.

"Barbra has always been my role model," she settles for saying instead. "Fanny Brice is one of my dream roles."

"Barbra's iconic," Claire agrees. "Me, though, I'm more of a Garland girl. Although there is a certain something to _The Way We Were_."

"_The Wizard of Oz_ was the first musical I ever saw," Rachel notes. "Well, unless you count Disney movies, which you clearly can't."

"Mine, too," Claire grins. "Dorothy Gale is still a dream role. When they remake the film someday."

"I'm typically not a fan of remakes, unless the cast is right. Everyone in Vocal Adrenaline is so talented, so I know you must be fabulous even though I haven't heard you sing," Rachel says. "So with you in the remake, I'd be inclined to support it." As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she gasps, realizing exactly how rude that just sounded.

But Claire laughs, shaking her head. "Was there a compliment in there somewhere? God, you talk just like Jesse."

"I'm sorry, I - "

"Don't apologize. I'm used to it. And I think it's kind of great. He's like the big brother I never had or wanted. Never thought he'd meet his match. It's kind of hilarious, actually."

"You guys are ... close," Rachel says tentatively. She's not sure what she's going to do if Claire knows Jesse the way Giselle does.

"Twelve-hour rehearsals will do that." Claire shrugs, clearly not picking up on her train of thought.

"I thought he was kidding about that," she mumbles.

"Not at all. So," Claire says, abruptly shifting topic - Rachel wondering if she's worried about talking too much business as well. "Not a big fan of remakes, huh?"

"Not as a general rule," Rachel agrees.

"So you agree that Garland's _A Star Is Born_ is far superior to Streisand's 1976 take."

Rachel gapes for a second. "The general rules don't apply to Barbra!" she finally protests.

"Anyway, Garland's version was a remake, too!"

"But Garland's is the classic."

"Barbra has more emotional depth."

"Fascinating," Claire says, pushing herself to her feet. "Since it's a hundred degrees, let's consider discussing this in the water?"

* * *

He spends the day grilling Ben and Ryan as to what's been going on at rehearsals at Carmel for the last several weeks. He doesn't doubt his ability to pick things up quickly when he - inevitably - has to go back, but not being at Carmel every day means he's behind on who Shelby is angry at this week, who is jockeying for whose solos, what the group morale is - although the last one is easy. They're always pretty damn arrogant.

They try to get the same intel on McKinley out of him. He knows he has to play to the cover story he and Shelby agreed on, but he still wants to believe he's above petty spying - that they're the best without it. He settles for telling them that Rachel is their true star - which they already knew - and that Schuester hasn't settled on a set list yet - which makes them gape.

He doesn't see said star until she appears at the bonfire they get going at the edge of the beach that evening. She's sitting next to Claire wearing a clearly borrowed and oversized T-shirt, and giggling at something.

"Hey," he says, sitting down next to them.

"Hello." She beams, and something twists inside him, strangely lessening when he automatically twines his fingers with hers.

"Jesse. _A Star Is Born_. Garland or Streisand?" Claire challenges.

"Streisand," he answers without thinking about it.

Claire throws her hands in the air as Rachel laughs. "I give up. You two deserve each other." She gets up and stalks away playfully.

"What did I miss?" he wonders.

"I like Claire," Rachel says, by way of explanation.

"I see that," he says, bemused. He's glad Rachel has found an ally among the girls. Claire, who he has known since middle school, is the sort of person who manages to get along with everyone despite being just as driven as the rest of them. She has always been friendly with Andrea and Giselle, but he trusts that she's not involved in whatever they're scheming.

"Today was fun," Rachel says. "I'm glad I'm here."

"I'm glad you're here, too," he says. He's surprised that it comes out that easily, without him thinking about it - that's dangerous. He's even more surprised that he really means it - even though space had been what he thought he wanted this week.

Rachel blinks at him, but the moment is effectively ruined when Andrea says "Scoot over," and edges in on his other side. She takes a swig out of the beer Ben just handed her, then passes it to Jesse. Without really considering it, he sips, then reflexively offers it to Rachel. She eyes it, then wrinkles her nose and shakes her head.

"I bet you've never had a drink before," Andrea observes, reaching across to take the bottle back. Rachel's face flames red and she looks down.

Jesse's glaring at Andrea, but before he can respond, Chris enters the conversation, everyone far too involved in each other's business, as always. "Lay off," he says, flopping down on the other side of Rachel. "I don't drink, either," he tells her.

Jesse slants a glance at the older boy over Rachel's head. Chris, stupidly endearing, is like everyone's big brother. He likes to trot out this ridiculous line about how Carmel deliberately allowed him to be a fifth-year senior because he's the only one who can nail the dramatic gymnastics moves that will help land them Nationals. It makes him sound cool. The truth is that Chris's dad died after a long illness, he missed a lot of school because of it, and then his mother fell deep into a bottle for several months. With all the turmoil going on, of course his grades had suffered. Typically, students on academic probation aren't allowed to participate in extracurriculars - but Shelby had gone to bat for him, arguing that music could be considered therapy and yanking the rug out from under the kid would do more harm than good.

The rest of the team doesn't know that whole story. It's Jesse's business to know.

Knowing Giselle is glaring at him from the other side of the group, his eyes are drawn, again, to the girl next to him, who has not let go of his hand, despite now being deep in a conversation with Chris.

He knows something about her, and her history, that no one else knows, either - not even her. Maybe that shouldn't have been his business.

* * *

"You never told me how you worked this out with your dads and with school," he says later as they sit on a huge rock that's at the base of an outcropping at the edge of the strip of beach. They'd wandered off when the beers being passed around the fire turned into vodka shots and spin the bottle. It's also the first time they've been alone together - last night when they were half asleep notwithstanding.

"You never asked," she teases.

"I'm asking now." He pokes her in the ribs.

She shrugs. "I've been an honors student my whole life, and I've barely ever missed a class. I handed in two essays and some other assignments for next week early and agreed to do extra credit in biology. And once I had settled all of that and ran the plan by my dads, they were fine with it. They gave me a huge lecture," - she blushes again, leaving him absolutely no doubt as to _what_ the nature of that lecture was - "but they like you and they trust me."

"Why did you tell them you wanted to go?"

"I suppose I skirted the truth a little," she admits. "I said your friends wanted to meet me - which I suppose wasn't an outright lie, since Andrea said something along those lines. And I told them I could use the mental break."

"So they have no idea we were fighting."

And just like that, they're back to that.

She makes the first move, turning to face him in the semidarkness. "It's tomorrow," she reminds him softly. "Do you want to start?"

He hops off the edge of the rock to pace back and forth, trying to work off a little of the hurt pride that's risen back up so he can keep his voice level. She's done all this - including stretching the truth to her dads, which he knows she hates - for the sake of apologizing. She deserves a civil conversation.

"We worked on that project for hours," he starts. "You probably spent just as much time on it with Puckerman and Hudson - more, I'd guess, since there's no _way_ either of them landed it on the first take. And that had to be at least a day's worth of editing on Artie's part. All that time, and you didn't think to tell me? You just let me be fucking blindsided? I understand casting decisions, and if you had told me from the start that Puckerman fit the bad-boy mold the storyline called for a little bit better, that would have been it - because I trusted you. But for you to act like this was something you wanted me to help you with, and then to use the other two without saying a word to me?" He's consciously fighting to keep his voice down now, knowing that the rest of the group would just love to overhear this. "It wasn't even just that you triple cast it, Rachel, you triple cast me with your two exes. Do you have any idea what that felt like?"

"I do," she says softly. "Finn was pulled between Quinn and I for so long, and almost the minute I started dating with him, he broke up with me to date Santana _and_ Brittany. And the whole time I dated Noah, he was really just trying to replace Quinn. I know what it feels like to feel you're not good enough for somebody. And I didn't think about how I was putting you in that position until after I did it. I really thought it was only acting - just a project."

"How could you? Knowing what it felt like."

"Because just once, I wanted to be - I didn't want to be the silly little girl sitting there in the plaid skirt, getting picked on for being naive and childish. You have _no idea_ what it feels like to be at the bottom, every single day! That stupid LIST just felt like the last straw." She pauses. "Look at Santana. Look at Brittany. This incident notwithstanding, look at Quinn. They act ... they act not like me, and no one bothers them. I didn't pick Finn and Noah for the video because I have feelings for them. I picked them because they're two of the most popular guys in school and it would make the video stand out the way it needed to. Just once, I wanted to be the one it looked like everyone wanted."

"_I_ want you." She gives this little gasp, and even he is surprised it slipped out. He repeats it again, though. "I want you. And you damn sure made it look like you wanted something more than me."

He's already breathing hard, agitated. And when she looks up through her lashes at him, he just feels like a bastard because he can see little tears glittering on the ends of her lashes. God _damn_ it, he didn't mean to make her cry.

"How could you think that?" she whispers. "You're ... you're the only person I've ever met who really understands me."

He sits next to her. He doesn't touch her, though. "I'm still having a hard time understanding this."

She's quiet for a moment, fussing with the hem of her oversized shirt. "I know you've been at McKinley a few weeks," she starts quietly. "But you don't really know what it's like. Especially because you're a senior. I thought if I did this ... maybe I could actually go a week without having a slushy thrown in my face." She pauses. "I don't fit in there, Jesse. Not even with everyone else in the glee club. Most of them just see me as a voice that can help win competitions. But that's it. I'm not their friend, or someone they want to spend time with outside of the rehearsal room. I'm just this annoying diva."

"You're a _lot_ more than that, and you know it. You didn't need to make a tasteless video to prove it."

"What you have here ... that's what I wanted so badly," she admits. "You're their star, but they actually _like_ you, Jesse. You have a place here, and you don't have to fight for it. People think you're special."

His argument is floored for a minute as what she said sinks in. Because he hasn't stopped to think about it like that. He's been thoroughly disgusted by McKinley, sure. But he knows he has an escape route, so it's easy enough to suffer through - particularly with Rachel by his side. He can't imagine what it would feel like to spend years in that district, and to know it was another several long years until graduation. Carmel isn't perfect, but it's a damn sight better - particularly because at least he has like-minded people to spend time with.

It had floored him when he'd realized that, although Rachel is far and away the star keeping New Directions going, none of her teammates offer her the respect she deserves - never mind friendship. He hadn't realized how deeply it cut her - apparently, her showface is that good. Apparently, he's not the only one who can hide secrets.

He realizes he's been quiet for a long time, and she's staring down at her hands, no doubt bracing for an outburst. Slowly, so he doesn't startle her, he reaches over to hold her hand.

"I think you're special. Is that something?"

"It's everything," she whispers, and all of a sudden, she's in his arms, hiding against his chest. "I'm sorry," she says again, her voice muffled. "I'll always be honest with you from now on."

Knowing she can't see him, he squeezes his eyes shut. He wishes he could promise her the same. Honestly. But he can't tell her the secret he's carrying around. Not without completely selling out Shelby, who's gotten him this far.

There's just no possible way that this can end well.

"I'm sorry, too," he says softly against the top of her head.

Let her think it's for the silent treatment.


	4. Chapter 4

She's trying to cling to the last vestiges of the pleasant dream she's been having, but a persistent noise is breaking into her consciousness. At first, she can convince herself that the tinny strains of 'Don't Rain On My Parade' are part of the fantasy. But then Jesse's muffled curse from somewhere on the floor jolts her all the way back to reality. She's in San Diego, and yes, that is her phone ringing at an ungodly hour.

"It's 5 a.m.," Jesse growls as she gropes for the device on the nightstand.

"Hello?" she answers groggily, praying it's not one of her dads.

"Rachel! Where have you been?"

"Finn?"

"Fucking perfect." She shoots Jesse an apologetic look, but he's already pulled a pillow over his head. She slides out of the bed and tiptoes into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind her.

"Finn, it's 5 a.m.," she hisses.

"What are you talking about? It's just after 8," he insists, sounding a little confused.

"There's a three-hour time difference," she explains, thinking she sounds a lot more patient than she feels.

"A three hour time difference where? Where are you?"

"I'm in San Diego," she reminds him. "With Jesse. I told Mr. Schue I'd be missing rehearsal."

"But I didn't think you were serious!"

She frowns, even though she knows he can't see her. "Why wouldn't I be? You know I wouldn't just skip rehearsal for no reason."

"Because I didn't think you'd actually go off for a week with a bunch of kids from a rival show choir! When are you going to realize that he's just playing you?"

"Finn - "

"I don't know if you're crazy or just stupid!" he bursts out. "Can you stop being so selfish for five minutes and think about what this means for the team?"

_Well._

She takes a deep breath, working to keep her voice steady. "First of all," she bites out, "I'm a professional. Even if I _was_ invited for nefarious reasons, I'm not going to reveal anything or do anything that's going to hurt our team. Second of all, I trust Jesse, and if there is anything going on, he's not involved. And finally - _you're_ one to talk about being selfish."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means all you ever thought about was yourself - your popularity, your need to 'find your inner rockstar,' as you put it. And now you want to come swooping in to get me back because you selfishly can't _stand_ the idea of me being happy with someone else."

"Rachel, I'm trying to look out for you! When are you gonna realize that he's only going to break your heart."

"I don't think that he will. And even if he does, that's my decision to make."

She pauses. Apologizing to Jesse last night, and the way he had held her afterward, finally understanding the doubts that plagued her, had taken a weight she was carrying off her shoulders. But lying in bed last night, she'd still felt troubled - and then she'd realized, it's because he's not the only one she wronged. She'd texted Noah last night, and he'd readily accepted, shrugging the whole debacle off in typically nonchalant fashion. She'd meant to deal with Finn upon returning to Ohio - she doesn't feel quite so pressed to address him immediately. There are certainly several ways he's wronged her - which she doesn't think she'll ever hear an apology for. But two wrongs don't make a right.

"Look, Finn. I'm sorry if making that video with you gave you the wrong idea. I've come to realize that I was so focused on my own agenda, I didn't realize my plan was horribly misguided and toying with the emotions of three people I care about. We're teammates, Finn. And maybe friends. But Jesse - " _I love him_, she's about to say. _It's different with him._ But she hasn't even told him that yet - although she had come desperately close last night. Finn can't be the first to hear it. "I care about him, deeply. I'm trying to make this work with him. And you need to respect that."

"Just come home."

"I'll be at rehearsal next week."

"Rachel - "

"Goodbye, Finn." She gently, but firmly, hangs up. After thinking about it for a moment, she turns the phone off.

When she goes back into the bedroom, Jesse's sitting up cross-legged on the sleeping bag, staring into space and apparently having given up on sleep. He looks over at her when the door opens.

"If you want him, just say so now, Rachel." His voice is carefully controlled, but when she looks at him, his blue eyes are open. Vulnerable. She wonders if he's letting her see it on purpose, or if he really can't hide it. If she's the only one who knows.

She sits down cross-legged in front of him, gently takes his face in her hands so that they're eye-to-eye. "I want _you_," she tells him firmly.

"Well." He takes a deep breath, and when he shoots her a smile as he mirrors her gesture, it's full of his usual cocky confidence. "Isn't that a lucky coincidence."

* * *

"So, Berry. Spill."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says - even though she's pretty sure she does - pretending to be fascinated by the aimless pattern she's tracing in the sand.

"You two were awfully late joining the rest of us today." On Katy's other side, Claire grins. Meanwhile, Andrea rolls her eyes and makes a gagging noise.

Rachel blushes, because there's a very good reason they were late joining the rest of the group that morning. It probably would have been even later if one of the boys hadn't come banging on the door, looking for Jesse to come and help assemble the volleyball net the boys are trying to put up behind the house.

(She's not distracted watching the play of the muscles in his shoulders as he wrestles with one end of the post. Not at all.)

"I shouldn't," she finally says. "It's private. It's not polite."

"Oh please, honey, it may be impolite, but it's extremely encouraged," Katy cajoles.

"Maybe she's got nothing to tell," Giselle snarks.

"Of course she's got something to tell. He's a really good kisser, isn't he?"

Rachel snaps her head around to face Claire, actually feeling all the color drain from her face. And she thought that was just an expression.

Claire laughs, but in a friendly way. "Relax. It was a game of spin the bottle in seventh grade. Honestly, it was kind of like kissing my brother, and we have never been anything more than friends. However, it was a really fine kiss - even then. So I do have some small idea how lovely your morning was."

"It was ... lovely," she finally demurs, blushing.

"Claire's sugarcoating it for you," Shoshandra says, flipping her red hair over her shoulder as she joins the conversation. "Most of us know him well enough to know that it's lovely. It's not like it's a big secret."

"Now _you're_ sugarcoating it," Andrea says lazily. "He's done more than make out with most of us, and that's not like it's a big secret either."

Most of the girls are shooting little sideways glances at Giselle, who is studiously not reacting to the comments. Rachel doesn't want to know what Giselle knows that might rank beyond lovely.

"Lay off, Andrea," Claire interjects.

"Don't try to boss me around or I'll have you demoted to background vocals, Claire."

"That would require you having as much pull as you think you do."

"I'm the female lead!"

"Only _sometimes_ -" Giselle interjects, joining the fray.

"Look, they've got the net up. I think Jake is waving," Rachel fibs to get away from the argument, pushing herself up and brushing the sand off her shorts.

"Seriously, don't listen to them," Claire says, falling into step with her. "I like hanging around Giselle well enough - she's a good singer, and always pulls her weight - but she has a jealous streak a mile wide. About solos, about college acceptances, especially about Jesse. She even gets antagonistic toward Andrea, as you just saw, and they're best friends."

She takes a deep breath. "Claire, I don't want to put you in a weird position, but you don't think they invited me just to do something awful, do you?"

"Are you planning on telling us your set list?" Claire asks bluntly.

She blinks. "No. Of course not!"

"Then what does it matter if she does have something up her sleeve? You're not going to fall for it, so let her do what she wants. Now come on and enjoy the free vacation."

* * *

The mix of the sun and sand and Jesse's hands on her waist as he guides her to the correct spot in the lineup, trying to help her misguided attempt to learn how to play volleyball, helps. Still, she's on edge that night as she scoots out of the back of the cab, straightening her skirt as she looks up at the building, on the outskirts of downtown San Diego. It's still so strange that she's outside, in the winter, and she doesn't need a jacket. Even in the evening, the air is warm on her legs.

"Come on. It's on the second floor." Claire links her arm with Rachel's and sets off at a purposeful march toward the entrance to this supposed karaoke club, a back door that looks like it's surely illicit. Rachel glances back over her shoulder at Jesse, who shoots her a reassuring smile without interrupting the animated discussion he's having with Ryan.

"Tell me about this place again?" she mutters, eyeing the staircase with trepidation.

"Come on, Berry," Katy teases, poking her from behind as Claire hustles her up the stairs. "It's all-ages. It's perfectly legal. We come here every year. They should put a plaque on the wall."

"Our coach believes in taking every opportunity to perform in front of an audience," Andrea explains, in a lecturing tone that makes Katy roll her eyes. "The only way to develop real stage presence is to learn to think on your feet up there."

Glacing back over her shoulder again, Rachel notices that Jesse has that look in his eyes again - the one he gets every time someone mentions Vocal Adrenaline's coach. Coach Corcoran, she thinks she's read on the message boards. It's another one of those things - his face is carefully neutral, but there's something in his eyes. She makes a mental note to ask him about it later. He was the male lead - maybe their coach pushed him harder than anyone else. Maybe it was a contentious relationship he doesn't like being reminded of.

Rachel glances around when they get upstairs. The room is lit with colored lightbulbs, casting a warm glow on the various tables and couches scattered around the room. at the far end is a well-lit stage. Rachel stifles a laugh.

"Talent's here," Ryan cockily announces, breaking off from his conversation with Jesse to head for the catalog of songs.

"You don't want to go first?" she asks Jesse curiously when he comes over to slide an arm around her waist.

"And demoralize everyone by blowing them out of the water right off the bat? Please." He leans over to kiss her cheek. "Sing with me later?"

She grins up at him. "Yes, please."

The place is fairly active - from the average age of the clientele, she guesses that there are some local schools and colleges also on break. Before long, critiques and praise are flying around the booth they've claimed equally quickly

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to open your mouth when you sing vowels?" Soshandra teases Jake as he sits back down at the table with Katy. "Like this." She demonstrates.

"Yeah, you _would_ know how to open your mouth," Jake snaps. Rachel gasps, and Katy tries to kick Jake under the table - she misses and Ben swears - and pretty soon there is an entire conversation about diction going on.

Rachel, unable to stop laughing while putting in her own two cents, thinks it's weird how ... normal they all make this seem. She's certainly never had conversations like this with anyone other than Jesse.

Their conversation breaks up when a blonde girl from another group gets onstage to perform an awful Britney Spears cover that is met with a round of groans at their table.

"Please put me out of my misery," Ben groans. "Someone get up there and sing something decent."

"Sing with me, St. James," Giselle purrs, leaning across Ben to grab his arm. "It's been so long since I've had a decent duet partner. How long has it been for you?"

"That's it," Rachel snaps, even as Jesse shakes Giselle off. That comment - half a dig at her talent, and half what she's pretty sure is a double entendre - is finally the last straw.

This isn't about being jealous. If Jesse ever wanted to choose another girl - which she truly doesn't think she has to worry about - well, that would be one thing. She doesn't want someone who doesn't want her. But she's not going to sit here and let Giselle disrespect her like she's some child.

Ignoring the murmurs from the rest of the group, she gets up and stalks around to the other side of the table, so she can look the older girl in the eyes.

"Sing off. Right now!"


	5. Chapter 5

_Parts of this got ... decidedly fluffier than intended. Hope it's not too cavity-inducing, and don't worry, there's plenty more drama still to come (a certain male lead is still keeping a certain secret). _

_** Disclaimer:** Just to cover the bases, the songs included in this chapter belong to Guns N' Roses and to Queen. And with that, we're off ..._

* * *

Giselle arches an eyebrow at her in amusement. "Come again?"

"You heard me." Rachel lifts her chin, trying to keep her bravado from failing. "Unless you're afraid to show me what you've got."

There's a round of excited murmurs and catcalls at their table as Giselle slowly, lazily gets to her feet. "What I've _got_, Berry, are three National titles already - and absolutely no qualms about showing you why."

With that, she saunters off toward the stage in a way that turns more than a few heads in the room. She stops to say a few words to the guy standing to the side of the stage manning the song book and equipment, then confidently steps up. Rachel follows along, wanting a few minutes on her own to select her piece. She already knows Barbra or Celine won't suffice — not in this situation.

She's standing to the side of the stage when the music starts. The opening instrumentals are familiar to her — she's heard them at more than one school sporting event when she's been to support Finn or Noah. The beat is driving, aggressive, which suits the mood — both then and now.

It suits the look on Giselle's face when she spins around to, unerringly, find Rachel standing in the wings, smirking as she raises the mic to her lips and begins.

_Welcome to the jungle - we've got fun and games_

_We got everything you want, honey, we know the names_

_We are the people that can find whatever you may need_

_If you got the money, honey, we got your disease_

_In the jungle - welcome to the jungle_

_Watch it bring you to your knees - I want to watch you bleed_

She snaps the last line out, the words falling on Rachel quick and staccato. She does her best not to fidget as the older girl prowls around the stage like an animal, never breaking eye contact even as she draws almost every male gaze in the room.

_Welcome to the jungle, we take it day by day_

_If you want it you're gonna bleed, but it's the price to pay_

_And you're a very sexy girl that's very hard to please -_

_You can taste the bright lights but you won't get there for free_

There's an open challenge in the lyrics, and it hits her then.

Giselle is talented and has stage presence — sex appeal, even. She is older and has done things Rachel hasn't. But really, she's just another bully — like Santana, or Quinn, or Azimio and Karofsky. Rachel has been dealing with them, in one form or another, since grade school. And their motivations are no different - jealously, insecurity, possessiveness.

None of it has cowed her yet. She's put a showface on and dealt with the world. Yes, she's been hurt by people, and yes, she has let her own insecurity and need for acceptance drive her to questionable decisions — most recently that stupid music video. But it ends there, she decides. She's not going to let _this_ bully send her home with her tail between her legs, she thinks, as she refuses to look away from Giselle's mocking smirk.

_Welcome to the jungle - it gets worse here every day_

_You learn to live like an animal in the jungle where we play_

_If you hunger for what you see, you'll take it eventually _

_You can have everything you want - but you better not take it from me_

It's just someone else trying to make her feel small because of her own insecurities — whether she's afraid of Rachel's talent and the threat it poses at Regionals, whether this is about Jesse, or whatever other reason.

Little does Giselle know, Rachel doesn't plan to take anything she doesn't already have.

She wants to go toe to toe like rock stars? _Fine_.

Over the noise, Rachel leans in to talk to the guy manning the music. He nods at her question and reaches for the song book.

* * *

Katy, although she's been tolerant of Rachel the whole weekend, pokes him in the ribs when he pointedly doesn't applaud as Giselle's number concludes. "Where's your loyalty?" she hisses.

He raises an eyebrow at her in derision. "You _really_ expected me to side with Giselle on this one?"

They don't get a chance to take the argument further, because Rachel is stepping onto the stage even as Giselle makes her way back to their table, still smirking as she draws more than a few admiring whistles.

Rachel seems nonplussed by the attention being directed her rival's way, smoothing her skirt down with both hands and nodding for the music to start. She runs her gaze over the occupants of their table as if sizing them up, winking when her gaze meets Jesse's.

He grins back at her unexpected show of bravado, his smile only widening at her entirely unexpected song choice when a familiar drumbeat fills the room.

Until the previous night, when she'd finally laid bare exactly what life is _really_ like at McKinley, he'd never understood how someone so talented could have such troubled self-esteem. But from the looks of things, she is finally about to serve notice that she's not to be disregarded.

She steps forward, ignoring the microphone stand and instead letting her powerhouse of a voice — the first time he heard her sing, he couldn't believe _that_ voice came out of _that_ tiny little body — fill the room all on its own. Her tone is light and more than a little mocking as she eyes Giselle, directing the first verse squarely at the older girl with a little smile on her face.

_I can see it in your stars - life is so exciting_

_Acting so bizarre - your world is so inviting_

_Playing really cool, and looking so mysterious, honey_

_Your every day is full of sunshine_

_But into every life, a little rain must fall_

She lifts one shoulder delicately and skips to the other side of the stage in time with the beat. It's not as blatantly sexual as Giselle's little display, but every eye in the place riveted on her. Jesse suddenly feels like it's hard to breathe.

She stops on the other edge of the stage and looks back over her shoulder, this time blinking innocently at Andrea.

_Anyone who imagines they can blind you with science_

_Bully you all over with property and finance_

_But you have the position_

_To call the shots and name the price, honey_

_You found success and recognition_

_But into every life, a little rain must fall_

She draws the notes out, teasing and making the song her own. It's a declaration of war — she leaves absolutely no doubt. Giselle and Andrea might have ruled the girls of the Ohio show choir circuit for the past three years, but they have never dealt with Rachel Berry before. No one has ever thrown their antics back in their faces quite like this.

"Holy fuck, she can sing," Ben hisses to his left.

"Did you think I was exaggerating when I said she could?" Jesse snaps at him.

Oblivious to — or maybe just relishing — the rising panic among the reigning National champions in the audience, Rachel stops back at center stage, grinning widely.

_You want a clean reputation_

_But now you're facing complications_

_'Cause into every life, a little rain must fall_

The song comes to an end, and he glances around the table as the room applauds. He notes, with some satisfaction, Ryan's mouth hanging open in shock, Claire's proud grin, Giselle's scowl, and Andrea's barely concealed panic.

"Excuse me," he tells his teammates with false politeness. He edges his way out of his seat and meets Rachel halfway as she makes her way back across the room. She's still smiling, and after that performance, he really can't help spinning her around to kiss her, hard, not really caring who's watching.

He loves what she just did. More than that. Beneath his pride in her, three little words are running through his head. If he's honest with himself, they've been there for weeks — but he's been trying so hard not to admit them, because then he will really have no way out of this when Shelby inevitably tells him it has to happen.

But right now — with her in his arms, knowing she wants nothing to do with Hudson, and with the crowd still buzzing for her — all he wants to do is enjoy it.

She's _his_, and there's only one thing that can make this even better.

"You're not done on that stage yet," he says when they're forced to come up for air.

"But I want their critique!" she protests halfheartedly.

"Later," he insists, tugging her back in the direction she came from. "I believe you promised me a duet, Miss Berry."

* * *

Everyone is still impressed with her performance when they get back to the house several hours later. Despite the late hour, no one talks about going to bed. They're all far too wired.

Rachel is in the middle of a raucous conversation about lyric interpretation. Meanwhile, he lets himself be dragged off to the kitchen, knowing the interrogation is coming.

"Recon fail, St. James," Ben snaps.

"Why didn't you tell us she could do that?" Shoshandra demands. "If the rest of the team is anything like her, we're screwed."

"They're not. And we're not," he insists.

Shoshandra turns to stalk out of the room with Ben close behind, leaving him alone with Andrea, who is pacing back and forth like it's a council of war. He thinks about what he's about to do for a split second, then grabs her by the arm — not hard enough to hurt, but just hard enough to absolutely get her attention as she whips around to stare at him.

"It's not recon, Andi," he whispers urgently. "If you breathe a _word_ to anyone, I swear I will make sure you don't get another solo the rest of the year. Coach Corcoran sent me to do a job, but it's not recon, and you're going to get them to back the fuck off."

"Why the _fuck_ did she send you if it's not recon?" she hisses.

"I can't tell you," he admits. "Look. Dynfunctional as we all are, I like to think we're friends. So you're going to have to trust me that I'm not playing both sides here. But Coach Corcoran sent me, and I care about Rachel, and this is ... complicated. So I need you to not fuck this up."

She stares up at him balefully, but, whether it's the threat of losing her solos — she'd cheerfully kill someone first — or whether it really is their friendship, he can see her eyes soften. "Let go of my arm, and we'll chat."

"Yeah, let her go, St. James," Giselle snips, sauntering into the room. "Wouldn't want your girlfriend to get any more ideas about what goes on here."

He lets Andrea go as she steps back, sizing him up. "This conversation is not over, Jesse." She says it quietly, then turns and leaves before he can take it any farther.

That leaves him alone with Giselle, who crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him.

"Are you happy now?" he asks, not a little smugly.

"I can't believe you let her embarass me like that," Giselle hisses.

He holds his hands up, innocently. "I didn't let her do anything. You did that all on your own."

"You've _really_ forgotten who you're supposed to be loyal to, haven't you? This fucking _girl_, Jesse. What is so special about her?"

He's surprised to hear genuine hurt in her voice, and when she looks up, he's even more surprised to see it reflected in her eyes as she glares at him.

"Giselle. There hasn't been anything between us for a long time."

"Bullshit," she hisses. "We're teammates. Friends. Right up until the day you deserted us."

She shoves past him as she stalks out of the room to the back deck.

"Speaking of deserting, you may want to check on Barbra. Some people can't handle a drink," she shoots back over her shoulder.

Oh. _Shit_.

He's relieved to find Rachel just leaning on Max, an annoying but fairly harmless junior, and giggling as Katy and Ryan have a heated argument over a round of flip cup. He taps Chris on the shoulder and quickly surmises that while he was dealing with the others, Rachel had accepted a few celebratory drinks — mostly just hard lemonade. She _would_ be a lightweight, he thinks fondly.

"Hi!" she beams up at him when he sidles up on her other side.

"I thought you didn't want to drink?" he asks her, vaguely amused, but ready to have words with anyone who pressured her into it.

"The beer was gross. This was sweet," she explains.

"Fair enough."

"I'm experimenting. It's my artistic rebellious attitude," she says, very seriously, then yawns widely.

"Tired?" He glances around for the clock, then decides he really doesn't want to know at this point.

"I like your friends," she tells him cheerfully, as he tries to steady her.

He laughs. "Yeah, I like them too." She can't seem to get her feet under her, so he gives up and scoops her into his arms.

"Slow down," she whines as he carries her up the stairs, and he presses a contrite kiss to her hair, realizing that the room is probably spinning just a little for her right now.

"That was quite a show tonight, baby," he says, pushing the door open with his hip and fumbling for the light switch.

"It was fun. That song is so out of my wheelhouse. I didn't know my voice could even work like that. It's been awhile since I was actually challenged," she admits.

McKinley can't _possibly_ challenge anyone like her enough, but he's not going to argue the point when it's this late — or this early — and she's a little tipsy. He sets her down on the bed, but when he moves to step back, he's taken off-guard when she manages to throw his impeccable balance, giving his collar a hard yank to bring him down with her.

He manages to catch himself from falling fully on her, but then her arms are around his neck, and his mouth is cutting off her giggle, and he's not really thinking of much of anything else.

He doesn't come back to his senses until he realizes her hands are wandering a little too low for this to stay innocent.

"Rachel." He takes her hands, gently but firmly. "No."

"I'm ready," she insists. "I'm serious."

"You might be serious," he says, "But you don't want it like this. Not half buzzed and half asleep."

"I can't believe you're the one turning _me_ down," she grumbles, sitting up.

"Likewise," he mutters.

She laughs, but then turns serious again. "I just want you to know how I feel about you."

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Rachel."

"What if I do?" She drops her eyes. "The other girls said ... well. They talk about _everything_, Jesse. I'm not like other ... girlfriends you've had."

They've skirted around this conversation for weeks — ever since the last time she insisted she was ready and really wasn't. He considers, then decides to tell her the truth, even if the explanation is so ... cliche.

"I'm no virgin," he says quietly, matter-of-factly. "I'm not going to pretend that I am. And I can't change that. But this should mean something." He pauses. "With you, it means something. I feel something for you I didn't for them."

He doesn't know that he'll ever be able to go through with that with her — not while she still doesn't know the truth about Shelby. She'd never forgive him, and more importantly, she'd never forgive herself. But she deserves to know how he feels, anyway.

"And how _do_ you feel about me, Jesse?" She says it lightly enough, but her eyes are serious.

Well. He's backed right into this one, hasn't he?

He doesn't know if being honest about this is a wise decision, or if it will just make things harder later. He only has an instant to decide. And then there's the fact that this feels like the most terrifying and most adult thing he's ever had to say to someone. Far harder than _Coach Corcoran, I'm Jesse St. James and I'd like to audition for your team,_ harder than _Dad, I'm absolutely not majoring in pre-law,_ harder than _Yes, I'll commit to UCLA._

"I love you," is what he says _—_ for the first time to anyone.

But as soon as it's out there, he feels something in the back of his throat calm as she blinks up at him with those big, wide eyes.

"You do?" she breathes.

"I ... really do." He can't help smiling, and that curious warm sensation in his chest only deepens when she wraps her arms around him.

"I love you too, Jesse," she whispers into the crook of his neck.

He'd never entertained the notion of feeling like this _—_ especially not at his age, and especially not with the pressure he's under. He's getting out of Ohio, and he's going to make something of himself. Feeling that way about someone would only hold him back, he had decided early on. It's lonely at the top, and he accepts that.

He'd never considered that somewhere out there _—_ right there in Ohio, in fact _—_ there was someone exactly like him who really didn't want to be lonely either, no matter what brave face she put on for everyone else.

For once, he ignores the voice in the back of his head telling him this can only end badly. He dips his head to kiss her softly _—_ trying to memorize the way she feels, the way she tastes. Trying to make this moment count.

They sleep with each other only in the literal sense that night _—_ her head tucked against his chest, their legs tangled.


	6. Chapter 6

"So now what?"

From her vantage point sprawled across the bed, Andrea shrugs lazily, watching Giselle yank the brush through her hair in front of the mirror. They'd both slept in, some the worse for wear, but the other girl has been on a tear since her eyes opened, still enraged over her perceived professional and personal humilation the night before.

"You've got to admit she's got chops."

"That display was ... sickening," Giselle growls.

Andrea considers. It's hard to tell which performance has Giselle more upset - Rachel's solo number, which had been a blatant challenge to the rest of the girls; or her duet with Jesse, when the two of them hadn't been able to keep their eyes off each other.

Personally, Andrea is more concerned about the latter - although not for the same reasons as Giselle, she suspects. Rachel's solo number was surprising - and admirable. She'd taken a song clearly outside of her typical genre and made it her own, commanding the stage with clear talent and technique. But impressive as it was, it was no cause for concern - the diminutive brunette is the most powerful performer McKinley High has to offer, and there's no way she can singlehandedly power New Directions past Vocal Adrenaline.

That duet afterward, though. Andrea knows she sounds good singing with Jesse. So does Giselle, or the rest of the girls, for that matter. They've all been together for years, while Jesse has known Rachel a fraction of that time. And yet. She thinks what the two of them do together on a stage might be the definition of chemistry.

The two of them together - now that's a serious threat. If you had asked her two weeks ago whether Jesse would refuse to come back from a recon mission, she would have laughed. But that was before she saw how the two of them were together - and before Jesse's cryptic comments the night before.

She wanted to invite Rachel along to learn more about her? She's learned a lot. Enough to treat this as a threat.

"We've got to fix this," Giselle is continuing.

"And what do you suggest?"

"Knock some sense into Jesse, break Barbra's spirit when he comes back to Carmel where he belongs, then crush her and her bunch of nobodies at Regionals."

"A little subtlety might be in order here," Andrea counters. "What if we get Coach to make her an offer?"

"You CAN'T be serious!" Giselle erupts.

"Keep your voice down! I'm dead serious," Andrea hisses. "We'll have to break a serious sweat to beat the two of them together at Regionals - and even then it's not a guarantee! We need Jesse back on our side. And if he brings Rachel with him, it puts Nationals in the bag."

"He'll come back anyway," Giselle insists. "It's a fling. You know him. There's nothing more important to him than fame."

"Why take chances? Let's sweeten the deal. It wouldn't be the first time Coach has tried to neutralize the opposition. We'll get another performer out of the deal, and Jesse makes less of a fuss about coming back. It's win-win."

"You're _really_ okay with her coming in and stealing all your solos?"

Andrea smirks. "Just because she took you doesn't mean she can take _me_. If she wants them, she's got to earn them. And you're forgetting the most important thing. I want the win. I know you do, too. That's all that matters."

"I can't deal with her for the rest of this school year," Giselle grumbles.

"You saw the two of them together," Andrea says, as gently as she can. She doesn't need to remind Giselle what it looked like when those two sang together. "Let's use it."

* * *

It is, as far as Rachel is concerned, a perfect morning. She's learned in just a few days that this group is quite high-energy. But, with a few some the worse for the wear after the late night, no one is particularly eager to rush off this morning, either sleeping in or lazing around. Ben - who started out cranky, but has bounced back to life with the help of a generous dose of caffeine - is replacing one of the strings on an acoustic guitar while explaining something about the instrument to Claire. Meanwhile, Rachel is snuggled into Jesse's side at the other end of the couch, half listening to the conversation. After waking up in his arms for the first time, she's not particularly keen on the idea of letting him go just yet, and he's not volunteering.

It barely even ruffles her mood when Giselle and Andrea join the group - Giselle trying to conceal a scowl and Andrea taking in the others with curiosity as she goes to rummage in the fridge for something.

"What's on the agenda for today?" Claire wants to know.

"Forget the city. Let's take it easy," Andrea calls from the next room.

"We'd better take it easy. Some people can't handle a real party." Giselle glances pointedly at Rachel.

Rachel shrugs. "Some people can't," she tosses back lightly. True, she might have a slight lingering headache - but she knows Giselle was in far worse shape by the end of the night.

Behind her, Jesse chuckles under his breath, his chest vibrating against her back. She bites back a shiver, luxuriating in the feeling of being so close to him.

What would it be like, she wonders, to get even closer - to know him all the way? She really might have tried to go through with it last night, if he hadn't had the presence of mind to stop her. She's glad he did. There is absolutely no doubt in her mind about her feelings for him - or his for her. But it's a _big_ step. A big, irrevocable step.

She bites her lip, considering. After he'd transferred to McKinley - shortly after her Madonna-induced breakdown - she'd privately gone to see her doctor, inquiring about a birth control prescription. She's certainly learned from witnessing Quinn's misfortune - and she just wants to be ready, when they're ready.

Not for the first time - and with a twinge of guilt, because she _really, really_ loves her dads - she wishes she had a mother around; or, at least, an adult woman more effective than Miss Pillbury to talk to. Her dads are wonderful, but it's a toss-up as to whether she or they would die of embarrassment first if she brought the topic up.

This is just going to have to be another one of those things she figures out for herself.

* * *

She needs to drop the bug in Coach Corcoran's ear, Andrea decides.

But she has to be careful how she does it. The official story is that Jesse went to McKinley on recon, and that's what she has to stick to, despite whatever he had hinted at the night before. If she lets on that she knows something she's not supposed to know, Jesse will tear a strip off her.

She slips away from the group under the guise of needing some air, wanders down the steps of the back deck, then dials the familiar number once she's out of earshot.

"Andrea, is everything all right?" her coach asks in lieu of a hello as soon as she picks up the phone, no doubt envisioning some terrible winter break incident that's left them all dead or incarcerated. Or at least with severely damaged vocal cords.

"Everything's fine, Coach. I just called to check in."

"Oh?"

"We went to karaoke last night. Jake can't enunciate his vowels and Katy still tries too hard sometimes, but we had the crowd eating it up."

"Thank you for the progress report." She sounds vaguely amused. "I'm glad none of you let the others slack off. But you _are_ on vacation."

"You know, we invited Rachel Berry along to scope her out, and she's really good." Andrea says casually.

There's a long silence before Coach Corcoran responds. "You ... what?"

"Rachel Berry. From McKinley. We had the extra ticket because Liz couldn't come, and we didn't think you'd mind," Andrea says blithely. "Just helping Jesse out. It seemed like a good opportunity to get a look at her ourselves without making her suspicious."

"Thought you'd help Jesse out," her coach repeats, sounding distracted. "Yes. Of course."

"She's really good," Andrea repeats. "Her Sectionals performance wasn't a fluke."

"I didn't think it was, or I wouldn't have had Jesse bother." _Why does she sound defensive?_

"She's only a sophomore. She'd be a huge asset."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Just that we all think she's good, and Jesse says she's all McKinley has to offer. It wouldn't be the first time you've made an offer to someone from a rival team, and she'd probably fit right in," Andrea says innocently. _If she and Giselle don't kill each other for the rest of this school year_, she adds silently to herself.

"Thank you for your input, Andrea."

She knows that tone. It's the one that means there will be no more discussion. She's done what she can.

* * *

"You never told us where you learned to sing like that," Shoshandra calls. She's sitting on one of those big rocks that juts out into the water, busily tying her long red hair up in a bun before wading in. Maybe a hundred yards away, the boys are making some macho game out of jumping from rock to rock. It's amusing how they abandon all pretense of being mature and worldly to act like eight-year-olds.

"Outside voice lessons twice a week since I was seven, middle school choir, and now glee club," Rachel recites.

"Is your coach any good?" Andrea asks, ducking a spray of water Claire just kicked her way.

"You know I can't tell you Mr. Schuester's life story," Rachel rebuffs. It's a shame, in a way, because she is dying to ask about their director and why Jesse gets that look every time she is mentioned. Maybe later.

"Lay off, Andi. She's on to you," Shoshandra teases.

Andrea shrugs. "You can't blame us for trying. It's a form of flattery, really."

"Flattery," Rachel repeats. "Yes, that's what it felt like yesterday." She doesn't mean for that hard little edge to creep into her voice, but it comes out on its own.

Andrea looks appropriately chastised. "Look, you're perfectly nice," she says pragmatically. "It's nothing personal. But of _course_ I want my team to win. It's completely possible to like you and want to take you out at the same time." She grins. "Anyway, you're too smart to fall for the veiled questions, so I should probably stop wasting my energy."

_Who else feels the same way,_ Rachel wonders? Giselle, for sure. Ben, probably, since it's his family's house. The others, to vary degrees - although some, like Claire and Chris, seem to steer away from the drama. _Not_ Jesse. She dismisses the idea that he could have been playing both sides to put her in such a precarious situation, even though he was thoroughly pissed at her last week.

"It's not like it was some big secret that we're rivals," Rachel finally says.

"Like I said," Andrea responds. "You don't miss a trick, Berry. Why do you think we kept our mouths shut about our own team?"

She's not entirely sure she can trust any of them. But whatever else they come up with, she knows she can handle it.

* * *

"How did you get this?" she asks that night. He has to bite back a shiver as she trails a fingertip from his elbow, up the back of his arm.

"Rehearsing for Regionals. sophomore year," he answers. "We were practicing a lift, in full costumes for the first time, and Katy wasn't paying particular attention to where her heels were ... "

"No!"

He laughs. "Yes. It needed stiches."

They'd excused themselves from the activity downstairs to hole up in the bedroom, both with homework to do - McKinley is not on break like Carmel is this week. Not surprisingly, a good amount of time is also being spent studying each other.

"Did the number turn out okay?" she wants to know.

He rolls his eyes. "Yes. Although I'm pretty sure that at that moment, I hit the highest notes of my career."

She giggles. "If it's any comfort, I promise not to stab you at Regionals this year."

His stomach lurches uncomfortably at the mention of Regionals - wondering which team he'll be on, and whether it's Shelby or Rachel who will hate him at that point - but he shoves it aside to continue the conversation. "Just over a month to go. Getting nervous?"

"A little," she admits. "We have to place, or the club is finished."

"At least placing shouldn't be too difficult, provided the judging panel doesn't do anything stupid," he says. He has absolutely no faith in most of the members of New Directions, but he knows the third competitor at Regionals is Oral Intensity, and they're usually a disaster of epic proportions. "So don't worry about placing. You're just nervous because it's your first try at this level."

"I know I'm only a sophomore, but I can't imagine not being nervous before a big competition." She eyes him curiously. "Do you actually not get nervous after a few tries at it?"

He considers for a moment. "Not nervous. More like hyper-focused. The good kind of nerves. When you get complacent, that's when you choke."

"That makes sense. Can you please tell that to the rest of our team?" she grumbles. Despite himself, he laughs. She's normally so upbeat and quick to defens the rest of them, it's amusing to hear the note of irritation in her voice. "I'm serious!" she exclaims.

"You should tell them," he suggests. "You're the captain, and I'm just some kid who transferred here a month ago who they still don't trust."

"Like they trust me."

"I hate what you go through at that school," he mutters. "I wish I could make it easier for you."

"You already do," she says, a little shyly.

"Truthfully?"

"Truthfully."

He touches her cheek and leans in to kiss her softly, waiting for her to tentatively part her lips and deepen in before sliding an arm around her to pull her closer. He haphazardly tries to push aside whatever they were just working on that's scattered on the bed between them, a textbook hitting the carpet with a soft thud.

"Jesse!" she giggles, her tone playfully rebuking, although she's not pulling away. "I have math homework to finish. You have a chemistry test to study for ... "

Her words trail off into a breathy little noise when he nuzzles at her neck, and, gratified, he lifts his head to smirk at her.

"Yeah, chemistry. That's kind of what I had in mind."


	7. Chapter 7

_Wow, where do I BEGIN to explain the delay in updating this story?! So sorry! I was kind of facing a catastrophe career-wise, which, thankfully, has resolved itself. I was also out of town for a few days here and there, and oh yes, during one of those, there was that one little incident where I met Jonathan Groff. Seriously. He's even more perfect in person than imaginable. __Anyway ... this is back! And I promise not to keep you waiting too long on the next installment :)_

* * *

Someone insistently pounding on the door suddenly jerks him awake, disoriented.

"Rise and shine! Get off your asses!" Ben hollers

"Shit," he mutters. Next to him, Rachel makes a noise of protest and burrows further under the covers.

"Don't make me come in there!"

"Don't even think about it!" Jesse hollers back.

"Yeah, you're not that scary, St James." Mercifully, the door remains shut, though. "Come on, time to rejoin society, Katy's making pancakes."

The footsteps recede down the hall, then clomp down the stairs. If he focuses, he can indeed hear chatter and laughter downstairs and someone - Giselle, maybe - singing. It's all familiar, comforting noise - he's woken up to it dozens of times, when they'd all crash at someone's house after a rehearsal ran late into the night, or when they were all celebrating after a competition and wound up in no state to drive home. He's always the one who wanders into the kitchen half-asleep and, totally secure in his position at the helm, lazily critiques the early-morning sing-alongs.

Giselle's a little sharp right now, but he's not quite secure enough to pick things apart at the moment.

For just a moment right now, listening to the din downstairs, that world he's always been a part of, and with Rachel Berry curled up in bed next to him, it feels like he has everything. If only he could keep things exactly like this.

Next to him, Rachel is squinting against the sun streaming in through the window. "Doesn't anyone know how to sleep in around here?" she grumbles a little, even as he kisses her on the forehead.

It's so cute, he can't help but chuckle a little. Who would have thought that Rachel Berry, overachiever that she is, wouldn't be a morning person?

"Sleep well?" he asks quietly.

"Mm," she mumbles affirmatively, even as she kisses his shoulder and snuggles in closer, clearly not intending to move for the moment. "You?"

He nods against her, can't help but ask, "What do you dream about?"

She giggles, perking up. "Just now, or in the general sense?"

"Either. General."

"I'm going to play three parts on Broadway," she says, with some conviction, almost like she's been rehearsing this for awhile. "Evita, Funny Girl, and Laurey in _Oklahoma!_"

"I'll bet you already have her dream ballet memorized,"

"Says the man who's probably already memorized the entire Sondheim catalog," she teases back.

"You can't ever be too prepared," he rationalizes.

"I've always believed in extensive rehearsal time," she demurs.

"Is that so?" He grins and leans in to give her a proper kiss, pleased when she immediately wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer, kissing him back slowly, deeply.

Of course, her phone chooses that moment to start ringing. It's early for a Tuesday morning, but not unreasonably so, considering it's just before 11 in Ohio.

"Ignore that," he mutters, interrupting his exploration of her mouth to kiss a trail down her neck.

She squirms and makes a frustrated noise. "What if it's my dads?"

He sighs but immediately lets her up at that, letting her scramble up to grab her phone and scan the ID screen.

"It's just Kurt." She bites her lip apologetically. "I should probably take it, though."

She crosses the room in those ridiculous pink kitten pajamas to duck into the bathroom for a moment. He watches her leave before it dawns on him that he ought to take the moment to check his own phone - which he'd silenced overnight - as well. He rolls over to snatch it off the nightstand, and frowns when he sees the missed calls icon.

He's ignored other calls from Shelby in the past week - they haven't actually spoken since he hung up on her before leaving for San Diego. But she has suddenly redoubled her efforts, calling six times since yesterday alone. He assumes she's now thoroughly pissed. Probably she also thinks he's still in Ohio, since McKinley has classes this week.

He doesn't really want to talk to Shelby until he's figured out what to say to her, and, more importantly, to Rachel. He has no doubt that he needs to come clean - and sooner rather than later, before the decision is taken out of his hands. It will be better if it comes from him - if he can explain to her that his feelings really are genuine, and let the pieces fall where they may.

He considers for a second, then silences the phone again and stows it in the drawer of the nightstand.

He's resolved to enjoy what's left of this week. Giselle and Andrea can antagonize all they want, but they have no proof of anything. If he can just keep everyone from killing each other for another three days, he can sit Rachel down when they get back to Ohio, figure out some explanation that makes sense.

* * *

"Hi, Kurt!"

"Someone's cheerful," he teases, making her laugh.

"What's going on? Is everything okay at home?"

"Everything's fine. I just called to make sure you were okay."

She smiles into the phone, even though he can't see. "That's sweet of you. I'm fine, thanks."

"I take it you and Jesse made up and are still sickeningly in love, then?"

"Yes." She can't keep the grin out of her voice.

"I don't need the details! Please don't scar me for life," he begs.

"Not like that!" she exclaims. She can hear noise in the background and assumes Kurt is calling from the hallway between classes. "So, what am I missing at rehearsal?"

"Puck is bent out of shape because his mom made him shave his mohawk off. Finn is sulking and singing awkward Springfield numbers. What's the evil empire like?"

"They're ... surprisingly normal," she admits, thinking her definition of 'normal' might be ... well, not normal to others at all. "You'd probably like them, actually. I'm ... having a good time."

"That's great." Kurt pauses as there's a burst of raucous laughter in the background. When it dies down, he sighs. "It must be night to get a break from this place."

This might be the most consecutive days she's gone without a slushy facial since Christmas break, actually. "I would say you have no idea, but I know you do."

He's silent for a moment, then confesses quietly, "Sometimes I think neither one of us belongs here."

She closes her eyes. "Sometimes I think you're right."

* * *

"How's Kurt?" he asks when she comes back in and pads over to the bed.

"He's fine. Holding down the fort. So," she says, settling back down cross-legged on the end of the bed to face him. "Where were we?"

She grins suggestively, but something is nagging at him.

"You were just about to tell me about your dreams." She opens her mouth, but he stops her with a finger on her lips. "Not your dream roles. Your other dreams."

She looks at him, confused. "The stage has been my dream as long as I can remember, Jesse."

"And it's who you are. It's important. But some dreams go ... deeper." He pauses. "Some dreams fill up the emptiness inside. The things that you know if they came true, all the hurt would go away. You singing _Don't Cry For Me Argentina_ in front of a sold-out crowd is now some fantasy, Rachel. It's an inevitability."

Her eyes are too bright when she looks at him, and he patiently waits for her to get the words out, understanding that these aren't that kind of tears. "You believe that?"

"I believe in _you_," he says quietly, reaching out to brush an escaped tear from her cheek. "You're the most talented person that I've ever met. Bar none. If anyone's going to be a star someday, it's you."

She beams at him brightly, grabbing both his hands. "_You'll_ be right there with me, then." He laughs, and she sits up a little straighter. "I'm _serious_, Jesse! You're just as talented as I am, and just as driven."

"Maybe we could hire out as a team," he suggests, and his tone is only a little joking. "Berry and St. James."

"You're going to give me first billing?"

"Alphabetically." He smirks, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Looks good on a marquee."

"Mm." She kisses back, then grins impishly. "Now that that's settled," she says, making him laugh. But before he can pick up the thread of their earlier conversation, she's turned the tables. "What about you?"

"Beg pardon?"

"What do you dream about, Jesse?" He shrugs, but she persists. "Really, I want to know. I mean, did you dream about living here? Is that why you picked UCLA?"

"Not necessarily. I applied to other schools. Tisch, Julliard, NYU, Carnegie Mellon, even Ohio State." Off her horrified look, he grins and adds, "Safety school."

"So why UCLA?"

He shrugs again. "Why not? It just worked out. The program is first-rate, and they were the one that offered a full scholarship."

"Oh." There's a hint of confusion in her voice that she tries to mask, and he looks at her, encouraging her to continue. She flushes a little. "I just thought ... your parents ... "

He knows what she's trying to ask without her saying it. His parents might be distant - but they're loaded. "I could. I choose not to."

She nods, a little, considering. "You want to do it on your own," she finally says.

He looks at her, surprised. She smiles a little, waiting.

_How the hell is she so perceptive._

"If they were to help with tuition, it would come with conditions," he finally allows. "My dad complaining about acting not being manly or realistic. Reminding me that five generations of St. James men in a row have been lawyers. Probably expecting me to minor in something 'reasonable' so I have a backup plan when I eventually 'come to my senses.'" It's a familiar refrain. He resists rolling his eyes. "I've gotten this far on my own. I see no reason to get them involved now."

"It must have been lonely, growing up like that," she guesses softly.

He makes a noncommittal noise, turning to look out the window by the bed like he's checking the weather. But in reality - with frightening perception - she's got it exactly right. If she wants him to profess to a dream that doesn't involve stage lights and an orchestra - it would have been having someone whose support didn't come with conditions. Someone to understand. But he's told himself that he's grown out of needing anyone - that that is more unattainable than Broadway.

She doesn't press him for an answer, just slides her arms around him from behind and rests her head against the back of his shoulder. "I love you, you know."

He smiles softly, suddenly unspeakably grateful for this girl, who does understand - _everything_. "I had a feeling."

They're quiet for a long moment, just listening to the chatter still drifting up from downstairs and the sound of the water outside the window.

"I know I'm lucky to have my dads," she finally says, quietly. "I guess in a way, I'm lucky I've never met my mom. It means she hasn't ever had the chance to disappoint me."

It's the first time she's ever brought up her mother, unprompted. The only time she's ever mentioned her was on that fateful Friday night, when she'd mentioned that her dads would be home later and he'd casually inquired about her family and she'd told him something about a surrogate. Then it was all Eliza Doolittle and A Chorus Line and practicing stage kisses and he hadn't thought anything of it until Shelby pulled him aside after rehearsal the following week.

"Your mom?" he asks. The surprise in his voice is genuine, but he's glad she can't see his face. His heart is racing.

He feels her nod against his shoulder. "I guess I've always sort of wanted to ... maybe not meet her, necessarily, but to know something about her," she says haltingly. "Her name, or her favorite song, or if I look like her. But it's just a silly dream. It's not like it's ever going to happen."

Having schooled his face into some kind of composure, he shifts to face her. "Why?"

"Well, my dads never told me anything, and I didn't want to ask them anything, because I didn't want to hurt their feelings."

"I'm sure it wouldn't be like that," he says, sounding encouraging. "You're getting older. They'd have to have imagined you'd have questions someday. They'll know it doesn't mean you're trying to replace them."

His mind is racing. If he can warn Shelby that it's coming, she won't sell him out. If he can nudge Rachel toward asking her dads about this, her curiosity will lead her to seek out Shelby on her own. He can feign shock when she tells him who her birth mother is - it's just another sort of acting exercise. She'll write the whole thing off as a happy coincidence, and, if he can somehow navigate the clusterfuck that Regionals is sure to be, he might just escape this with their relationship intact.

"I'll think about it," she interrupts his thoughts, but there's doubt in her voice. She looks up at him. "You'll help?"

_Oh, if only you knew._

He nods. "Of course."

"Thank you." She leans against his shoulder. He knows by her tone of voice that the conversation is over, that she wants to be left to puzzle over this for awhile. If he pushes it any further, she might get suspicious - not to mention, it would be disrespectful of him.

"Come on," he says instead, tugging on her hand. "Katy does make great pancakes." He pauses, suddenly remembering an important fact. "Jake's vegan, too, so you're all set."

She giggles, following him to the door. "Sounds perfect. Any chance we can also tell Giselle her morning rendition of Whitney Houston was a little sharp?"

He throws his head back and laughs, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "You can tell her whatever you want."


	8. Chapter 8

All day - as the group of them laze around on the beach or kick around in the water - Andrea has been shooting him pointed glances, trying to get him alone to talk. He ignores it for a few hours, but finally decides to stop putting it off that evening, rather than waiting and giving her an opening to do something foolish.

He wanders back up to the house, leans against the railing on the back deck, idly watching the waves. He's barely there five minutes before he hears her coming up the steps.

"So," she starts, leaning on the railing next to him.

Despite himself, he smiles. "So."

It's an inside exchange, their way of having an entire conversation in only a word, built over six years in the same school district getting on each other's nerves, pushing each other, learning to respect each other.

_"So." This other choir is really, really awful, but let's not laugh until we're in the lobby._

_"So." I heard you dumped that guy. Want to go back to our arrangement of hooking up between relationships?_

_"So." You definitely missed a note during rehearsal. Get your act together._

She drums her fingers on the railing impatiently, as if deciding how to approach the issue. "I told you this conversation wasn't over, Jesse."

"I don't know how much of a conversation there is to have," he admits.

"It's not recon," she states.

"No."

"And you care about her."

"Yes."

"But you're not going to tell me what it is?"

"I can't."

"If I asked Coach Corcoran, would she tell me?"

"You _can't_ ask her," he insists. "No one was supposed to know. If you start asking, she's going to come down on me."

"When are you coming back?" When he doesn't immediately answer, she rounds on him. "You can't be serious. This shouldn't even be a debate. We're your friends. This is your fucking _team_. You're seriously thinking of throwing all of that away?"

"I don't want to throw it away! But she's - I'm - "

The words stick in his throat. He's _Jesse St. James_. He can't admit that he's backed into a corner, that he has no idea what the right move should be.

"Well, none of this helps," Andrea snaps. "What are we supposed to plan for? What the hell are you planning to do?"

"_I don't know_," he hisses. "I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do."

"The way I see it, you have two choices," Andrea says. "You can stay at McKinley, help them clean it up when we TP their choir room, and get crushed at Regionals. You're not enough to drag them out of that black hole by yourself, and you know it. Or you can come back to Carmel, bring Rachel with you, and win another National title. And then when we graduate, we know this team is in good hands. Rachel's good enough to handle it."

He'd be lying if he said it wasn't a fantasy he'd entertained - to have everything, to not have to make the choice, and to see Rachel shine, the way she deserves. But he shakes his head. "Rachel's too loyal to transfer. She feels responsible for that team."

Andrea shrugs. "With a good enough offer, anyone will transfer. I'm sure Coach Corcoran will think of something."

"Coach Corcoran," he repeats slowly. Suddenly, he stops, looks at Andrea as it crystallizes in his head. "You didn't."

"I just reached out to her - kept it casual, put the idea in her head. Let her know that we were backing you up, suggested it wouldn't be a bad idea."

"You did WHAT?" he snaps.

Suddenly, all the missed calls from Shelby become clear.

Shelby was never supposed to know Rachel was here. The rest of the team was never supposed to get this close to her. People were never supposed to start asking questions like this.

He shakes his head. "You crossed the line this time, Andi."

"Crossed the line?" she snaps. "This is my team, too. I did what I thought was best."

"This one isn't about the fucking team! You have no idea. You really fucked this one up."

He stalks inside and upstairs, intent on retrieving his phone.

* * *

"Berry."

She looks up from where she's digging through her things for a hair tie, not particularly feeling like getting her hair wet at the moment. Behind her, she can hear Claire and Katy and Shoshandra shrieking at the boys in the water. She's entirely unsurprised that it's Giselle who's circled back up onto the sand to corner her.

"Giselle," she returns politely, continuing to search through the bag. Idly, she wonders what's taking Jesse so long - he was just going to grab something in the house, and then he'd be right back, he said.

"He's up to something, you know," the older girl says, as though reading her thoughts.

She raises an eyebrow. "Come again?" She knows what Giselle is insinuating, of course - but if she plays along with the conversation, the information might be useful. She trusts Jesse, but it's clear there are larger things at play with the rest of the group.

"I'm just looking out for you," Giselle says, her voice dropping with false concern. "I'd hate for your spirit to be crushed when you find out he's playing you."

"Don't you think I'd know if he were playing me?"

"That's cute, that you think you'd know," Giselle smirks. She steps a little closer, puts a hand on Rachel's arm condescendingly. "Look, I get that you're not as ... experienced ... as us, and you don't get how this world works. But it's not always sunshine and rainbows. You have to be a shark. Jesse knows that."

"Don't you dare lecture me on what it takes to get ahead," Rachel snaps, shaking the hand off. "You have no idea what I go through. You have no idea who I am. Just because I'm not backstabbing or putting out like you - "

"I checked his phone when he left it upstairs this morning," Giselle abruptly says, cutting her off.

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Don't you think that behavior is _slightly_ out of line if you claim to be his friend?"

"You should see all the missed calls from Coach Corcoran. Probably checking up on whatever he's up to."

"Or checking up to make sure everything is okay out here," Rachel counters.

"None of _us_ have calls from her," Giselle points out. "And Jesse isn't even on this team anymore ... allegedly."

Rachel shrugs, looking up the beach, and suddenly noting that Andrea has re-joined the rest of the group. Andrea, who went up to the house not five minutes after Jesse did. And Jesse is still nowhere to be found. It's not overtly suspicious, but something in the back of her mind is bothered by it.

"Excuse me - I can't find a hair tie in my bag," Rachel says. "I'll be right back."

Ignoring Giselle's huffy sigh, she pushes herself to her feet and starts off for the house - walking calmly, so the older girl won't see that she's suddenly rattled, by something she can't put her finger on.

* * *

"If you hadn't hung up on me and then ignored my calls for a week, I could have told you that bringing her along was an unfathomably stupid - "

"For the last time, it was _Andrea's_ idea," he hisses, trying to avoid being heard by anyone else who might have wandered into the house. "This is _all_ Andrea's idea. You can't start trying to convince her to transfer."

"It would hardly be the first time," she points out.

"This isn't like any other time. Don't you think that would look a little suspicious to her dads? And then the whole thing blows up in our faces."

"I'm not going to pressure her to transfer," Shelby rushes to reassure. "Obviously the situation is ... delicate. But you said she was curious about the rest of her family, her background. All we have to do is wait just a little - "

"I can't do this anymore," he interrupts. "We have to tell her the truth. I care too much not to tell her the truth."

She sighs. "Jesse, please be mature about this - "

She can count, on one hand, the number of times she has pushed Jesse too far in four years. This time, she can almost hear his temper snap audibly.

"Be _mature_?!" he snaps. "_You're_ the adult in this situation, Shelby. You're my coach. My teacher. You're her mother. You're the one who has all the information. Who's been calling all the shots. So why don't you be mature, and listen. I'm not a pawn. I'm done."

He suddenly goes silent. In the background, Shelby heads a little gasp.

"Rachel - " she hears him start, and then the line goes dead.


	9. Chapter 9

He's frozen in place, watching her with wide blue eyes as he slowly sets his phone down. She steps inside and closes the bedroom door behind her.

They stare at each other for a long beat before she finally finds the courage to break the silence.

"What's going on, Jesse?"

She'd heard part of it, standing in the doorway before he'd turned around. She has a vague idea, unbelievable as it is, but she wants to hear him say it.

He's struggling - at a loss for words for the first time since she's known him.

"Coach Corcoran - Shelby - did ask me to do something ... but it's not what you think," he finally says, hesitantly.

_It's not what you think._ Isn't that the big cliche that always appears in movie scripts right before the heroine gets her heart broken?

"They were all right. You were playing me," she bursts out. "You let Andrea try to - "

"No!" He looks almost hurt at the accusation. "That's not it."

"You told me you loved me." She hates that her voice sounds small.

"I _do_," he insists, fervently.

Her heart jumps, but - "How can you tell me you love me one minute, and then admit that your coach sent you to do some job the next minute? What is this, Jesse, a Bond movie?"

"Shelby is your mother."

She'd caught the end of his phone conversation - but it still seems absolutely impossible. It's not what she expected him to say, at all.

She's staring blindly at the wall over his shoulder - she doesn't know for how long - when she realizes he's waiting for her to respond.

She owes him the right to explain, to say his piece. He'd done the same for her when it was her who'd make the mistake.

It's funny how inconsequential that video seems now.

"Tell me."

"She was in her twenties, just out of Ohio State, and trying to move to New York. She told me that she answered an ad in the newspaper - and met your dads when they were interviewing potential surrogates. It was her ticket out." She shivers involuntarily at that. Jesse pauses, watching her. She can't look at him, but she nods permission. He continues, speaking in careful, even tones. "Your dads had her sign a contract, with a confidentiality agreement. She wasn't permitted to contact you herself until you turned 18. But she saw you at Sectionals, and thought, if you came looking for her instead ... "

"She saw me at Sectionals?"

"She was blown away," Jesse confirms. He's quiet a moment, then one side of his mouth twitches like he's trying not to smile under the circumstances. "We both were."

"Is that where you came in? Sectionals?"

"After you told Hudson about us, he went running to Schuester." Jesse rolls his eyes, and if Rachel weren't so tense, she might do the same. "Schuester came to one of our rehearsals to talk to Shelby, because he was worried about you 'fraternizing with the enemy,' as he put it. And when Shelby realized we had made a connection ... "

So their first meeting was chance. The first time they sang together, their first date, their first kiss. It's close, but ... She finally asks him what she really wants to. "How much of it was real?"

"So much of it," he insists. "I wouldn't have agreed to do it if I didn't like spending time with you - I just never thought I'd like you so much. I wasn't trying to hurt you. I thought ... Shelby has done a lot for me. I couldn't say no. Not when she asked for something so important. And then you said you wanted to know more about your family ... I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Did anyone else know?" It seems like it should all fit together like a puzzle. Andrea trying to get inside her head, questions about coaches and teams.

"No one. Shelby asked me to keep it quiet. They knew I was dating you, of course. And if anyone asked why I was spending so much time at McKinley, the cover story was recon. I never intended for you to get dragged out here."

"And what was supposed to happen after I found out?"

"I didn't think it through," he admits. "Shelby wants me back at Carmel - and at first, I didn't think that was going to be a problem." Her stomach twists at that admission, just an instant before she dimly registers and appreciates the brutal honestly. He's not trying to gloss over anything to try and get back in her good graces. She chances a look at him - for the first time - as he soldiers on. "I've never had a relationship like this with anyone before. We're on rival teams, and I was about to graduate ... I thought that if things didn't end well between us, at least you'd have a relationship with your mother to build on. But everything's changed. I never thought I would feel this much for you. I didn't want to let Shelby down, but ... I realized I had to be honest with you."

"That's a convenient realization, considering the conversation we're having," she snaps.

"It's the truth," he insists. "That's what you just walked in on."

She sits down on the end of the bed, shakes her head. "God. You had the gall to give me the silent treatment over being dishonest with you about a stupid assignment for glee club, while you were hiding _this_ from me."

"You can't compare the two!" he exclaims.

"Really?" she snaps back. "Because from where I'm standing, your lie looks a lot bigger than mine!"

"You dragged me into a triple-cast project with your exes because you were trying to boost your own reputation! I did what an adult asked me to do because I thought it was the right thing!"

"The right thing?" she yells back - well aware that others may be listening in, but she can't help it.

"I thought the chance to meet your mother - the fact that Shelby actually cared about meeting you ... " He pauses, shakes his head. "My parents, Rachel - you have no idea what I'd give for them to have ever taken that kind of interest in me."

"I have no idea because you never told me!"

"I never told you - not until this morning - because I've never been able to trust a single person with it, in my life," he hisses back. "I do not have the kind of people in my life you show those fucking _weaknesses_ to. I thought we could trust each other."

"Trust each other? God, Jesse. I don't even know what this is anymore."

He snorts humorlessly. "I'm a fucking idiot, is what this is. Thinking I was in control here. I'm just some idiot who's in way the hell over my head."

"You're not an idiot," she says wanly. Truth be told, _she's_ the one who feels more than a little stupid. She's trusted him - wants to even now. But she's shown him all her cards, like some silly little schoolgirl who can't stop going on about her dreams and insecurities. And meanwhile, he knew all of this. She feels a little exposed. And she'd be lying if she said her pride wasn't a little injured.

"I'm sorry," he says abruptly. It's the first time he's said it in this conversation.

It's the first time _anyone's_ said it, actually.

She searches his face. She doesn't want to believe that he could ever wear a showface around her - not now. For the first time, she notices how - young he seems. She's always thought of him as so much older than her. He's more confident, more experienced, has accomplished things she hasn't - both on the stage and off. But in reality, mature as he is, he's only two years older than her. He's still in high school. He hasn't lived yet - not really.

If Mr. Schue or her dads or another adult had asked her to do what her mo - _Shelby_ - had asked him, would she? She doesn't know if she knows her answer - doesn't know if she likes the answer. She prides herself on trying to do the right thing, being kind, being honest with people - even when it isn't appreciated. But at some point, you have to listen to authority.

"You made a mistake," she says finally. "We all make mistakes. It's how we grow up."

When he looks at her, it's appraising. Admiring. "I always forget that you're younger than me," he says. "You see so much."

She does laugh at that, a little hysterically, wondering how he just echoed her thoughts - wondering if this is what it feels like to lose your mind. "You know things about me that even I didn't know."

He sits down next to her on the end of the bed. For some reason, that makes her feel better, even though, for the first time in days, they're not touching. "You know things about me that no one else knows. It's terrifying."

And that's so strange, because somehow, she thinks of him as fearless, too. "What are you scared of, Jesse?"

He shrugs. "When people know things about you, it's ... ammunition." He doesn't have to elaborate - she's seen everyone's behavior over the last several days, and that's not even counting whatever he's witnessed from his parents growing up.

"I'm scared, too."

He takes a breath. "I don't know what I'm doing. I've made mistakes, and, unintentionally, I might make them in the future. But ... I want to be scared with you."

She thinks it's the most honest thing anyone has ever said to her.

"You're asking me to take a pretty big leap of faith, here," she says softly.

"I'll jump if you jump."

She wants to - really, she wants to. But her head is a little too full to make that leap. At least, right this second.

"I love you," she says, softly. He closes his eyes, like he already hears the but coming. "I need to think about some things."

He nods, resigned. "I'll be here."

* * *

She goes for a long walk, hoping it will burn off some of the fitful energy, the desire to scream. She carefully picks her way over the rocks that line the private strip of beach behind Ben's house, setting off down the shore with no particular goal in mind. She only stops and turns to make her way back in the opposite direction when the sun is about to vanish below the horizon and it's obvious it will be fully dark within the hour. Her dads have always taught her not to be careless, no matter how upset she is.

_Her dads._ What are they going to think of all this? She laughs humorlessly. Just yesterday, she'd been wishing for a female role model to talk to about growing up. And now she's stumbled right into this knowledge. Now the hypothetical woman has a name - _Shelby Corcoran_ - an occupation, a hometown, students.

Students who Rachel knows quite well now - some better than others. For the first time, there's a flash of anger for this woman - _Shelby_ - who holds all the cards, who decided it was OK to play god with her life - not to mention Jesse's.

Her phone is buzzing with text messages - Claire and Shoshandra and Chris, having figured out that something is going on. Kurt, completely unaware, telling her about something that happened at McKinley today. She kind of wishes there was a text from Jesse, too - but she appreciates that he's giving her the room to think, just as she'd asked, leaving the ball in her court.

She thinks about calling her dads. But they'll be all over her with concern before she can fully form her own thoughts - and they'll possibly be extremely indignant toward Jesse, when her gut says that he doesn't hold all of the blame in this situation. She'll have to tell them something eventually - but right now, she just wants her own thoughts.

She sits on the sand in the dark - out of earshot of the house, but just close enough to pick out the lights. She tries to let the rhythm of the water on the beach drown out everything but the most important thoughts.

Everything that comes to her on the ebb and flow is contradictory.

She wants to meet her mother. She's terrified of meeting her mother.

She loves Jesse and thinks she really can forgive him for getting dragged into this and miscalculating. But she doesn't particularly want to see him right this second, not while it's all so fresh.

She may just kill Andrea for making a mess of all this. Despite that, she likes Andrea better than a lot of other people she's met - and she has more of a connection to Carmel than she'd ever thought.

Where does that leave her, then?

She stops checking her phone, loses track of time. She only feels like going inside when the warmth goes out of the sand and it's too chilly to be outside without a sweater, even in California.

She knows it must be extremely late when she quietly lets herself into the house, not hearing that anyone else is awake. She hesitates on the threshold, pulls out her phone to send a quick text (_I'm back. I'm okay. Talk to you tomorrow._), then turns down the downstairs hallway, instead of going upstairs.

When she quietly opens the bedroom door, Shoshandra stirs in the bed, blinks sleepily. Wordlessly, she scoots over, making room for Rachel. On the other side, Claire is facedown, snoring softly.

She closes her eyes and lets exhaustion take her.

* * *

When she blinks awake the next morning, she finds Claire and Katy and Shoshandra already awake, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, staring expectantly.

"Tell us what happened," Claire says quietly.


	10. Chapter 10

She doesn't even know where to begin. But before she can try to get the words out, Claire saves her.

"It's Coach Corcoran, right?" she asks gently.

Rachel blinks, surprised.

"Jesse didn't tell us anything," Katy hastens to add. "He ignored the rest of us the entire night. But the two of you aren't exactly quiet. Jake and I came up to get a drink and heard part of it - enough to piece together. We already knew you have two dads - you called them from the airport. And later you mentioned something about a surrogate ... "

"You do look a lot like her," Shoshandra says, scrutinizing.

"She sings like her," Katy puts in.

Her heart jumps. _Her mother sings like her._

"So Jesse found out about it, somehow, and didn't tell you?" Claire asks gently.

"Yeah," Rachel agrees. "Something like that." She doesn't know how much it's wise to let them know about loopholes in contracts and their teacher incriminating their former teammate in something that probably skirts a crime.

The bedroom door creaks open, making them jump. Andrea takes one look at everyone's faces, then shuts the door behind her, deposits the plate of bagels on the nightstand, and briskly crosses the room to settle into a chair. "Well, how badly are we going to have to kick his ass?" She takes in their shocked expressions, then grins. "Please. I know him well enough to know something happened. He sulked all night, and now Berry's holed up in here with you all?"

Claire glances at Rachel for permission, then explains in quick, spare detail. Andrea listens attentively, swearing quietly under her breath.

"I had no clue," she says sincerely. "I knew he was hiding something, and I pushed him, but I never thought it was anything like _that_."

Rachel laughs a little, humorlessly. "Everyone said he was hiding something from me. Giselle kept saying he was lying, but I never thought it would be that, either."

"I don't think he's entirely lying," Andrea muses.

"I might believe _him_ - but really, Andrea, I'm supposed to believe _you_?" She's been playing nice for five days, and knows keeping up a front is probably smart to protect herself. But now she feels like letting it all go - blood in the water be damned. "You wanted to get me here to - I don't know, to mess with my head to try to sabotage us at Regionals. Because I was this naive little girl who certainly wouldn't know what was going on, right? I'm not that stupid, Andrea. And your best friend is blatantly trying to get me out of the way so she can have Jesse back, so forgive me if I don't believe you playing nice."

"She's not lying about Jesse," Claire puts in. "I want to kick ass at Regionals as much as the next girl, but I wouldn't lie to someone to do it. I told you - I've never seen him like this."

"We knew Coach Corcoran sent him for something," Andrea explains. "They said it was recon - whether that was a cover or not, I don't know. But then he stopped showing up at Saturday rehearsals, and started letting calls go to voicemail. It didn't take a genius to figure out he actually cares about you. That was why I invited you. I had to figure it out, and figure out what we had to do to get our leading man back - because I sure don't like the idea of competing against him at Regionals."

"And messing with my head?" Rachel demands.

"Just a side benefit." Andrea has the gall to smile a little, incorrigibly. "Look, not to rain on your parade - pun intended - it wasn't about you. Not at first. I was trying to figure out what was going on with Jesse, and get him back to Carmel with or without you. Having you around seemed like the easiest way to do it. And if you cracked or leaked your setlist, that was just a bonus."

Put in those terms - if she wants to believe Andrea - it's actually not so bad. Hank Saunders, Tina, and anyone else she's ever steamrolled out of her way at McKinley would probably say she deserves far worse.

"And Giselle?" she clarifies.

"Oh, she _definitely_ wanted to make you cry and leak the setlist," Katy scoffs.

"Hey, she's not a bad person, contrary to popular belief," Andrea defends. "She's jealous. Everyone knows what that's like." Rachel winces, feeling that one hit a little too close to home. Even though she's found something _infinitely_ better, it still hadn't felt good watching Finn and Quinn for the first half of the school year.

"Giselle's one of my best friends," Shoshandra puts in. "But we all love Jesse. I kind of like seeing him happy."

"He makes me happy, too." The whispered admission is out before she even knows she's spoken.

"Do you love him?" Andrea asks, scrutinizing her carefully. Without having to think about it, Rachel nods. "You mad at him?"

"No. Yes. I don't know."

Angry might be the wrong word, she thinks. She's confused, and more than a little embarrassed, and hurt. Altogether, it feels like something resembling anger - although she doesn't blame Jesse, per se.

Andrea gives her a reassuring smile. "Do you particularly want to talk to him right now?"

Despite herself, she laughs a little. "Not right at the moment. I think ... I have some feelings to think about first."

"Come on," Shoshandra says. She pulls the younger girl up off the bed. "I know just the thing to distract you."

* * *

"So. St. James. You fucked up good, huh."

"Fuck off," Jesse snarls.

He's perched on the back steps, still thoroughly cursing himself for agreeing to go along with Shelby's plan in the first place. He should have just dated Rachel, kept his mouth shut, and let the chips fall where they wanted to.

Chris is smart enough to just be quiet and keep him away from the vodka. Ben is plenty smart, but he must just not care at the moment.

"I don't know why you're so broken up," his classmate snaps. "Game over. It's your ticket out of McKinley. It's time for you to forget the sophomore and get back to doing what we do best - winning, and intimidating the competition."

Chris is silent, meaning he agrees with at least part of it. The screen door creaks open as someone else joins them.

"Where are the girls?"

"They're inside." Max weighs his words carefully. "Rachel's hanging out with Claire and them. I think she's okay."

"Well, _that's_ a relief. I'm so glad _Rachel's_ okay," Ben drawls.

"Back off," Jesse snaps.

"Like I'm taking orders from _you_."

"Actually, you are," he warns in a low voice, climbing to his feet.

Ben is nonplussed, getting in his face. "Maybe I'd be more inclined to fall in line if you stopped moping and remembered who your loyalties were to."

"Maybe if you stopped thinking with your dick and used your _head_ for half a second, you'd realize there's more to life than high school teams."

"Oh yeah? Well, while you're using your _head_, maybe you could figure out where Rachel put your _balls_, because you're such a pathetic mess right now, I wouldn't follow you _anywhere_." Ben shoves him back half a step.

"Yeah? You were happy enough to follow me to the _first_ three national titles - "

Jesse shoves him back. Hard. It would escalate father, but -

"Hey. Hey. _Hey_!" Chris, who has half a head on both of them, shoves his way into the middle. "We're a fucking _team_! Lay off."

"Yeah. Some _team_," Ben snarls. "With our fearless leader bent completely out of shape because of some girl from another district."

"You want to talk about people being neutered, Coach Corcoran is going to have you _both_ singing high notes if anyone comes home with a black eye," Chris reminds them.

Ben shakes the older boy off, glares. "He'd just better get his head out of his ass before Regionals. That's all I'm saying."

"You want to be ready for Regionals?" Jesse snaps, in a tone that makes Chris groan, because he knows what's coming. "Go get Jake and Ryan," he orders Max. "Get your asses out back. Now."

He runs them through the combinations of the 'Bohemian Rhapsody' routine that don't involve the girls, over and over, until even _his_ legs are shaking. Feeling reckless, he pushes them through it again when Ben glares at him, until it doesn't look like he's considering commenting anymore. When he runs out of reasons for them to go through that particular sequence again, he improvises.

In his life, there haven't been many bad moods that he hasn't been able to shake with a hard, punishing rehearsal. It hasn't ever not made him feel like himself to be at the helm of the pack, taking no prisoners - just a little bit better than the rest of them.

But this time, there's not much comfort in it.

It's the role he's always played, but - for the first time, he feels like he's wearing a showface instead of being himself.


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you so much to everyone who has continued to read and review this story (especially those of you who are reviewing anonymously/as guests, who I can't message directly). There are about four chapters left, counting this one, and they're mostly written, so no more month-long waits, I promise!_

* * *

Shoshandra has wanted to be a professional dancer since she was little, and her answer to everything is dance. So the girls spend the day locked in the basement, pushing the couch and the game table against the walls and stretching out in the middle. Mindful of Rachel in the middle of the group, they stay away from current routines and songs, instead improvising things Claire remembers from Sectionals freshman year or things Shoshandra learned in private lessons in Akron.

The group is missing Katy, as well as Giselle - who is conspicuously absent after all the fireworks instead of going in for the kill. Andrea went looking for them earlier, and behind the closed door of one of the upstairs bedrooms, she hears Giselle's raised voice, followed by Katy's soothing tone. She lingers in the hall for a moment before turning away, deciding to leave well enough alone. There's a pang of hurt for her friend, mixed with guilt, but - she's supposed to be the team leader. She's supposed to keep the fireworks under control. And they are, for now. At least Giselle isn't alone, and Katy is too smart to take sides or make the situation worse.

She can hear the sound of Ben swearing and Jesse yelling at him drifting up from the back of the house. They all just need to get this out of their systems before anyone confronts anyone.

From where she's standing next to the speakers in the basement, music vibrating through her as Shoshandra tries to yell over it, Rachel can't hear them. It feels good to move, to work the tension out, after all the thinking and all the talking. Music, dancing has always been the best catharsis she can think of.

The mix CD they're playing is driving, varied, but keeps coming back to a lot of classic rock. When it cycles back around to Journey again, it makes her think of Kurt, of Mr. Schue, of their first month with New Directions and things being a lot simpler than this. Last fall, she was just the girl who wanted to be great at something, to be part of something special so she'd stop getting slushied every day - or at the very least, to be part of something special enough that all the trouble is worth it.

She feels _included_ here, she thinks, laughing as Claire literally tries to bend over backwards to touch the ground in a gymnastic move and can't quite. She's never felt like she belongs at McKinley. There's never been anywhere she can just relax and be herself. Even within the confines of the choir room, the group is fractured - the football players, the three Cheerios, Artie and Tina coupled up, even Kurt and Mercedes whispering together in the corner. She'd always been the odd one out - at least until Jesse had shown up, slinging an arm over her shoulders and talking about accessible music and the relatability of Sondheim until Mr. Schue showed up to start rehearsal. Before that, it had been her trying to act as though she were unperturbed by being excluded, listening to all the conversations taking place in hushed tones and wondering which ones were about her.

It doesn't feel good to be the one who's not in on the secret. And It's safe to say that the secret Jesse was keeping from her was one of the bigger ones he could have.

_But he did it without malicious intent._ He's not some football player who threw a slushy on her for the hell of it, or Santana, who cruelly belittles other people to make herself feel better. And he didn't do it for his own personal gain - like Finn manipulating her feelings to bring her back to the club, or the group keeping the secret of Quinn's baby's paternity from her so the drama wouldn't lose them Sectionals.

She has a feeling this isn't the last or only time either of them will mess up. But it _can_ be the last secret either of them keeps.

He wasn't _trying_ to hurt her, and that makes him worth the trouble.

* * *

As luck would have it, it starts raining hard that afternoon. There's no scattering down the beach, no groups outside on the deck. They're all in the house, which suddenly feels too small for all of them, close and tight.

When Jesse straightens up from grabbing a drink out of the fridge, Andrea is there, leaning against the doorjamb. Her hair is tied back from her flushed face, like she's been through a long, punishing rehearsal. She crosses to grab her own bottle of water out of the fridge, kicks the door shut, and stares at him evenly.

"So," she starts.

"So."

It's all right there, but she lets him have it anyway.

"You really fucked this one up, St. James."

"So I've heard."

Andrea shakes her head. "If this was just some recon mission and you'd fallen for her - she'd have gotten that, because she's just as crazy and competitive as you are. But for you to know something like that about her and hide it?"

"Since when do you care?"

"Day one. What was the first rule?"

Their first day of rehearsal, freshman year at Carmel, Shelby had slammed them all into the seats in the auditorium, demanded silence, then laid out the cardinal rules, the ones that carried the threat of expulsion from the team. He's heard the speech four times.

"The show must go on." Whatever drama is going on in your personal life, whatever is happening off the stage - don't let it affect your performance.

"Rule two."

"When you're giving it your all - give more."

"And the big one - rule three."

"Protect your own."

They're competitive, but they're a team. They function as a unit. They have each other's backs.

"Rachel's part of the group now in almost every way that counts. She's just as driven and competitive as any of us. She's just as dedicated, just as passionate. She belongs with us. I know we're dramatic people, but it wouldn't be dramatic to say it's even her birthright. Fate dumped her in another school district, and if loyalty is keeping her there, that's her decision to make. But it doesn't mean we don't get her. I sort of want to kick your ass on her behalf right now - and Giselle's, too - but that's not my place."

He can't help smiling a little. "You know what the sick thing is? Before all of this, before whatever scheming went on ... I was actually thinking you'd like each other if things were different."

"She's something else," Andrea agrees. "She's the best thing that ever happened to you."

* * *

Later, when her legs are sore, and she can't find it in her to be angry anymore, having burned off all the hurt pride and confusion, she goes looking for him.

It doesn't take long. When she doesn't find him with the rest of the boys on the back deck, she sticks her head into the bedroom to find Jesse lying flat on his back, listening to the rain in the gathering darkness outside. He starts a little when the door opens.

"Hello."

He smiles cautiously at her greeting, and she feels a little flutter of gratitude - that he's been patient enough to wait for her to want to talk. "Hi."

He sits up, and she clambers onto the bed to sit cross-legged, facing him. They look at each other for a long moment.

"Am I anything like her, Jesse?" she finally asks.

He tips his head and studies her for a long moment, carefully considering. She does her best to stand up under his scrutiny, not blinking away.

"Yes and no," he says finally. "You're talented, you're disciplined. Organized. You're so driven, and you're not afraid to push others around you, to hold them to those standards. There's so much of her in you, enough that it almost didn't surprise me when she told me the truth. But it's ... tempered, in you. You care so much about other people and what they're thinking or feeling - maybe too much, sometimes. You have a big heart. Not that she doesn't," he hastens to add. "She's still my teacher. I'm sure there are things even I don't know."

"Why do you think she did it?"

"Beyond what I told you before?" He shakes his head. "I honestly don't know. You'd have to ask her."

"You'll go with me?"

He nods. "Of course. If you want me to."

She takes a deep breath, knowing exactly what she's really saying. "I want you to."

She still has so many questions - about her mother, about the future, about everything. But she's going to be brave enough to look for the answers. And he'll be there, whether those answers are good or bad. And for now, that's enough.

"Why?" he wants to know.

"I've always had a hard time making friends. You know how I am. People don't like it." He opens his mouth to protest, and she shushes him with a finger against his lips. "I've never had that person I could trust with everything. Who I knew I didn't have to have any secrets with." She looks at him meaningfully and he nods seriously, getting it. "You're the only person who hasn't ever judged me. Who has gotten the best and the worst of me and who hasn't walked away from either."

"I won't walk away," he swears quietly. "Not as long as you'll have me. You'll make mistakes, and so will I, and I can't promise you we'll never fight - and knowing us, it'll be dramatic - but it'll never be enough to make me walk away. And I'll always be honest with you. I don't regret wanting to help Shelby, but I _do_ regret lying to you, and I'm sorry."

She thinks about it for a second, then smiles a little. "I think ... maybe this happened the way it was supposed to. But I'll always be honest with you, too, because I'm not afraid of doing that anymore. I'm not scared that you'll hurt me with what you know, or that you'll walk away with it. I've never been able to trust anyone our age like that before - not Kurt, not Noah, not Claire or anyone here. We'll both make mistakes, but I think ... you're my first real best friend. And I couldn't have found a better person."

She doesn't realize there are tears in her eyes until Jesse - his own eyes suspiciously bright - cups her face in his hands, brushing one off her cheek. When he kisses her, it's like she's something precious. Something special. She knows without thinking about it how to kiss him back the same way.

"You're the only person who's ever really known me," he whispers. "You're the best friend I've ever had. I love you so much."

She kisses him back, wanting to get just a little bit closer - to know just a little bit more of him.

It's just him, she thinks, when she loses her balance, taking him down with her against the bed. She can feel who he is in the way he touches her. His hands, as they skim down her sides, are confident. Arrogant, even. They demand all her attention. But they're also warm, and kind, and loving - with a gentleness he only lets her see. And yeah, it's new and a little scary when he pulls her closer, letting her feel just how much he wants her - but it's still just _Jesse_.

"Rachel," he grits out, and buries his face in her neck. It's a warning, she knows. He's putting her in the driver's seat, and it's - exhilarating. Powerful. If she says no, it's the end of the discussion. Instead, she turns her head to kiss him again and slips her hand under the back of his shirt, pushing the material up, giving him tacit permission to continue.

They have learned so much about each other this week. She wants to find out even more about him. That freckle on his collarbone, and the shudder that goes through him when she kisses it. The noise he makes when she hooks a leg over his waist to get closer - and how that makes her feel.

There's still so much to learn about the world - about her life. She wants him there with her to figure it all out. They'll start here.

* * *

Jesse has always hated cliches. But sometimes he has to admit when they're applicable - after all, some phrases stand the test of time for a reason.

He's had sex with other girls before. But to Rachel Berry, he makes love. And it's his first time at that as much as it is hers.

He might be more nervous than she is.

He's always hated that expression, _afterglow_, too. But there's no other word for what he's feeling right now, cuddled together under the blankets with her listening to the rain that continues to fall, muffling the rest of the noise and making him feel as though they're alone in the house. For a second, he offers up a brief thanks that no one has come looking for them, his teammates smart enough for once to mind their own business.

"Jesse?"

"Hm?" He strokes her cheek when she props herself up a little against his chest to look at him. She turns her head to kiss his palm and he melts, feeling utterly _content_ for the first time in his life.

"At the risk of sounding banal, what happens now?"

"Now," he says, "we enjoy our last couple of days of break, we go back to godforsaken Ohio, we try to win a National title together, and then we take Broadway by storm."

"You're coming back to McKinley," she whispers

"Yeah. I guess I am." He hadn't been entirely sure about it until he'd talked to Andrea before. _Protect your own_. Rachel is one of a kind, and he's not losing her for the sake of a National title. His scholarship, his future, is already secured, wherever he finishes senior year. His only concern is Shelby - and if she attempts to threaten him back into line, he's not above playing dirty. Convincing a student to help her exploit a legal loophole and breach a contract? That surely wouldn't sit well with anyone who knew.

"I just thought ... " Rachel bites her lip. "I know neither one of us is exactly thrilled to be at McKinley."

He makes a face, making her laugh, before he finds her hand under the covers and squeezes it, the mood sobering again. "I don't want to leave you," he admits quietly.

"You'll have to," she says, and he looks at her quizzically. "College. Remember? You're moving back here in six months. We're going to be apart for at least two years, longer if I get into a New York school the way I've always planned, although UCLA _is_ on my list of backups, and with all the time we'll both be spending at auditions and rehearsals - "

He chooses his favorite method of de-railing her panic, kissing her soundly enough to elicit a squeak.

"Do you trust me?" he asks when they pull back.

Her eyes soften. "Yeah. I do."

"Then trust me when I say we're going to figure it out together." And they will. This isn't the first or last hurdle they'll face by far - but this, her learning the truth, feels like the biggest one.

"Besides," he teases gently, "after _that_, you're _never_ getting rid of me."

She flushes. "No notes?"

He laughs, wrapping his arms around her to snuggle together more closely under the blankets. "Flawless."

He sleeps more soundly than he has the entire week, and it's not just because she's next to him, it's not just because he's physically and emotionally spent.

This time, he's not waiting for it to be over.


	12. Chapter 12

It's quiet when he wakes up, the rain having stopped at some point overnight and the rest of the house still asleep. It must be early. He doesn't move, cataloging which muscles are still sore from dance rehearsal and _later_ activities as he listens to Rachel snore quietly. He can feel her heartbeat against his own skin, and it occurs to him that this is all he could ever want.

(Well, that and a Tony by the time he's 30, but the two clearly aren't mutually exclusive.)

It's the first time he's woken up without feeling guilt and panic looking at her, wondering if today is the day the truth comes out. Despite that relief, something is still nagging at his conscience, and he tries to focus on the vague thoughts that won't allow him to go back to sleep.

He remembers what Rachel had said, about feeling lighter after apologizing to Puckerman and Hudson along with him, and hoping they'd both be happier after some closure to the whole debacle. And he remembers what Shelby has said so many times, echoed by Andrea, about looking out for your own.

He has nothing to apologize for, per se. He's certainly not going to apologize for his feelings.

But everyone deserves closure.

He doesn't realize he's been absently stroking Rachel's hair until she stirs a little against him. "Jesse? Are you awake?" she whispers.

"Yeah. Sorry." He presses a contrite kiss to her forehead. She shifts so she can look up at him, smiling sleepily. The _contentment_ he sees in her eyes gives him a stupidly warm feeling in his chest, because it's like she's mirroring his own feelings back at him. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she answers, a little too quickly.

"Truthfully?"

"A little sore," she amends, blushing. "But good. _Happy_. What time is it?"

"Early. Go back to sleep," he says, pulling the blanket back up and tucking it closer around her.

She blinks at him in question when he props himself up on an elbow instead of snuggling back under the covers with her. "I have to take care of something," he says quietly.

She studies his face, and her eyes soften in understanding. She nods. "Take your time."

He kisses her gently. "I'll be right back to you," he promises, before slipping out of the bed.

After pulling on a T-shirt and jeans, he pauses by the door. Rachel's eyes are already closed again, and she nuzzles into his pillow. He closes the door quietly behind him, just wanting to get this over with.

He's lucky that Katy and Andrea sleep like the dead - they'd discovered that at a summer drama camp several of them had attended after freshman year, standing outside the girls' cabin to sing various numbers really loudly, to see what they'd sleep through (unfortunately for Jesse and Ryan, the counselor was a light sleeper). Neither one of them moves when he creeps into the room to poke Giselle and wake her up. She glares at him, and he shoots her a warning look to be quiet. She rolls her eyes and follows, crawling out from in between the other two girls.

Everything outside is quiet and rain-washed after last night's storm, and the sand sticks to his feet as they walk, him trying to pull his thoughts together. A line from Shakespeare pops into his head from sophomore year, and he thinks how appropriate it would be, amended slightly. _I come to bury us, not to praise us._

"I'm sorry," he finally starts.

Giselle snorts, indelicately. "No, you're not."

"I'm not sorry for loving her," he confirms softly. "But I'm sorry I hurt you. And I'm sorry you're jealous. It's a terrible feeling. I know."

It had taken him a long time to accept that he'd actually been jealous of Finn Hudson - and even now, knowing he no longer has any reason to be, the anger, the hurt pride, and the sick feeling in his stomach are sort of hard to forget - particularly because his rival was so very unworthy in every way. Which is why he isn't surprised when Giselle's initial response is defensive.

"Jealous of her?" she scoffs. "_Please_. Ask me if I'm jealous after we hand her band of rejects their asses and take Regionals."

"I'm not coming back," he says quietly. He braces himself for the explosion, knowing he's just going to have to ride it out. Sure enough -

"This is _bullshit_, Jesse!" she explodes, and he's really glad they're out of earshot of the house. "I thought we were friends. You're seriously staying at that halfway house? Abandoning us for some girl?"

"She's not just _some girl_," he says lowly, dangerously. "Listen. Giselle. We've been friends since freshman year. I'd like to stay friends, whether or not we're on the same team. I didn't realize you thought there was something more. But there's not. It was fun, and it was convenient ... and I feel like an asshole for saying that, but I never realized I wanted anything other than that until I met her. It wasn't fair to you, and I'm sorry."

"Why her?"

"She's the one," he says simply. He cringes at his own cliche - although it's apt - and doesn't begrudge Giselle rolling her eyes.

"That's so fucking cheesy, Jesse." But all the fight suddenly seems to have gone out of Giselle as she sits down on one of the rocks and looks out at the water. "Watching you with her - it hurts, because I thought you got it, and now it feels like it's never going to happen for me," she starts, haltingly. He quietly sits down next to her and waits, knowing how hard it is for any of them to admit weakness. "I know who I am. I'm an arrogant bitch, and I spend too much time at rehearsals, and I try to scheme my way past whoever gets in the way. How many chances at this am I going to get?"

He fights to hold back a smile, knowing Giselle won't appreciate it at all. But he gets what she's afraid of. Really, he does, because it's very close to what he used to feel, and partially why he'd always written off serious relationships - that, and watching his parents' dysfunctional marriage. But then Santana Lopez had commented that he and Rachel were more annoying together than apart, and he'd started to think that maybe he wasn't so damaged after all.

"When you find the right person," he says, "they're going to be just as crazy as you, and just as much of a workaholic, and they're going to _love_ scheming with you. The world might never be the same. Forget Hollywood - the two of you might just take over the White House or something. There is someone out there who is going to like you for everything that you are."

"I'm sorry I tried to intimidate your girlfriend," she sighs grudgingly.

"It's not me you should be apologizing to," he says, and she nods. "But thanks."

She sniffs a little, leaning against his shoulder. "I know you don't love me, but you still at least like me, right? We're still friends?"

"I'll always be your friend." He pauses. "Even if you _are_ an arrogant bitch."

She snickers. "Yeah, I like you too, asshole."

They walk back to the house, where Giselle's mood is decidedly brightened when they find Ryan and Katy in the kitchen, arguing over a bowl of pancake mix. Jesse leaves the three of them to badger each other and sneaks back up the stairs, where Rachel doesn't complain when he interrupts her in the middle of getting dressed.

* * *

Thursday night, their final full night in California, finds them back at the karaoke club, which is considerably more crowded. Rachel isn't complaining. It's an excuse for Jesse to hold her close, his voice right in her ear as they debate their options.

"Duet with me, Berry," another voice suddenly cuts in.

Giselle nudges Claire, on the other side, out of the way with her hip, quickly paging through the book to what she wants. Rachel shoots a look over her shoulder at Jesse, who is opening his mouth to protest. She shakes her head firmly, cutting him off. Rachel leans over Giselle's shoulder to look when she stops turning pages.

"'Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better?'" Claire reads. "Karaoke _classic_."

A week ago, if Giselle had picked this song, she would have - rightly - taken it as a declaration of war. Now, despite the raised eyebrow and the smirk, she sees it for what it is - a peace offering.

She grins at the older girl. "You're on."

"It's a good thing you've got St. James," Giselle shoots over her shoulder as they push their way through the crowd to wait their turn by the steps to the stage. "You're gonna need his shoulder to cry on after I wipe the floor with you."

"I might be willing to share him under special circumstances," Rachel counters, linking arms with her so they aren't jostled apart by the group of giggling college girls waiting near the stage, probably planning to sing _Katy Perry_ or something equally insipid. "For comfort's sake alone, since I have no intention of actually letting you outshine me."

* * *

Their Friday night flight home to Akron by way of Chicago is delayed - Andrea and Ben arguing about a new connecting flight at the ticket counter while Rachel calls her dads to assure them that they will make it back safely and she's got a _lot_ to tell them, really.

After that, they find plenty of ways to amuse themselves in the San Diego International Airport. Ben's acoustic guitar is his carry-on, as he hadn't trusted it in checked baggage, and that's all they need for several hours' worth of music, staging an impromptu concert for the other people stuck at their gate. It's fun. They're not rivals for the moment, there's no competition, it's not an audition. It's just music for music's sake.

People applaud. Some even whistle.

Eventually, though, the gate attendant tells them that people are actually attempting to sleep in this airport, and they quiet down. Ben and Ryan are eating fries from the airport bar and playing cards, while Katy is doing homework that didn't get done over break this week. Everyone else is drowsing and half-asleep sprawled on the chairs or on the floor. Jesse has his eyes closed as she leans her head on his shoulder, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She's sad the week is over. Jesse - calm, confident Jesse - might be ready to go back to McKinley - but she's not sure she is. She's not sure she's ready to sit in the choir room with peers who roll their eyes when she insists on pushing them harder, who point fingers at her when she rightly argues for a solo she deserves. She's felt more at home this week than she has in nearly two years at McKinley. Around like-minded individuals, she's not ruthless, she's driven; she's not obsessive, she's organized; she's not selfish, she just knows her own strengths; and she's not harsh, she's constructive.

So where does that leave her, then?

"You're thinking too loud," Jesse mumbles sleepily. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. It'll all be fine," she whispers, half to him, half to herself.

This time, he holds her hand when the plane takes off, ignoring Jake's snickering.

* * *

They don't manage to make it back to the parking lot at Carmel - where everyone's cars are still parked after carpooling to the airport - until early Saturday morning.

"Don't be a stranger, Berry," Andrea says, hugging her amid all the grumbling and dragging around of suitcases. "And keep St. James in line for us."

Rachel hugs her back. "I will. I know things were ... _interesting_, but thank you for inviting me."

As the other cars pull out, she's walking back to Jesse's Range Rover when she realizes there's another car still in the lot, closer to the building - one that doesn't match the students' cars. She catches Jesse's gaze.

"It's Shelby's car," he says. "She comes in early on Saturdays sometimes to tidy up her office and to go over things before rehearsals."

Rachel stands there for a moment, considering her options. Then she holds out her hand. Jesse takes it, squeezes it, and lead her into the school.

Beyond the auditorium on Mr. Schue's haphazard scouting trip, she's never seen much of Carmel, and her eyes are taking it all in as Jesse, with the ease of familiarity, leads her through the main lobby of the school, then past the closed auditorium doors and down an adjacent hallway.

"The arts faculty all have their classrooms or offices back here," he says.

Arts faculty. This school actually has an _arts faculty_, she thinks, before Jesse stops in front of a closed door with a rehearsal schedule tacked to the bulletin board beside it.

"You're sure?" he asks quietly. When she nods, he knocks softly on the door, then pushes it open, letting Rachel step inside first before standing protectively behind her.

Rachel's first impression of Shelby Corcoran is a dark-haired woman bent with intense, almost palpable focus over the sheet music on her desk. Then she looks up when the door clicks into place against the wall, and Rachel's breath catches in her throat at the dark eyes that seem so _familiar_.

If Shelby has a showface, she isn't wearing one now - her eyes flit from Rachel, in shock, to Jesse, then back again, as she clearly struggles for words.

So Rachel takes the lead.

"Miss Corcoran? I'm Rachel Berry. I'm your daughter."


End file.
